Dames and Dragons
by BeckandCall
Summary: Post-war. Romania. Charlie is distracting himself with his favourite fire-breathing monsters, and an unlikely visitor descends to wreck havoc, academia and Slytherin angst all over the place.
1. Chapter 1

Charlie Weasely rubbed his eyes with one hand. By the light of his wand he could make out the differing scribbles of his numerous siblings- letters that he really knew he should reply to.

His Mother's beseeching message lay atop the mountain of curled, smudged paper, looking especially guilt-inducing. Not that this was anything new, her letters had always had that effect. Charlie realized that she didn't mean to, but the endless comparisons between each of his siblings left a bitter taste. Not exactly easy to compete when one brother will probably become Minister of Magic, another has married the world's most perfect woman, and the youngest are partners in crime with the Saviour of the Wizarding World. Merlin's Beard, even the twins who were meant to be the family slackers will probably end up the most successful businessmen on Diagon Alley.

_Not the twins_, Charlie reminded himself, his gut clenching. Just George.

It had been worse since then. Since losing Fred. The letters which had always had a subtext of disappointment in them- the silent pleas to come home, to do something more traditional, to find a girl… There was an emptiness now, echoing abandonment. The old, carefree replies he used to send back no longer seemed sufficient. No one wants to hear a comic tale about Dragon Dung when the only true comic in the family is gone. No one wants to hear about a death-defying escape when not all of them had managed to escape. No one, especially not Charlie, wanted to read his actual letters. The ones that admitted he was thankful for escaping to Romania, how it got him away from the paralysis of home and having to look at the boy who was partly responsible for his brother's death.

He knew it wasn't Harry's fault. Harry was just a kid. A famous, world-saving, family-endangering kid.

Charlie remembered the first time he met the Boy Who Lived thinking he looked more like the Boy Who Narrowly Avoided Starvation. He didn't look cared for, quite the opposite. Yet he looked so blissfully happy wandering around the Burrow amid the cheap furniture, bearing his Weasely jumper with pride. A kid who thinks a Weasely jumper is the best gift anyone can get is not someone with naturally a lot of malice in them. Charlie scratched his own navy jumper thoughtfully. But malice or no, his presence in their lives had led to each member of his family being endangered. Father's life, Bill's face, Ron's entire childhood, Ginny got embroiled in Merlin knows what in Second year, George's ear and… Fred. They lost Fred.

Everyone sings Harry Potter's praises, yet they all seem to forget the foolish family who adopted and died for him.

Not for the first time did Charlie despair at living in a family of Gryffindors. Stupid, self-sacrificing Gryffindors. And not for the first time did he remind himself that they would have all done it again.

This didn't make the replies any easier though. The mention of Harry in his Mother's constant letters felt like a usurpation. Where in the past she would have been ranting about Fred and George turning the neighbour's cat purple, or filling the Charms corridor with five headed frogs, or extorting fellow students with their Weasely Wizard Wheazes… now it was how _Harry_ was doing in Auror training, and how she thinks _Harry_ may propose to Ginny once she's finished her final year.

Charlie suddenly realized that he'd accidently set his Mother's letter on fire.

"Char, you look a bit… fired up," said a germanic voice from the doorway. Marcus- blond, blue-eyed and built like a cross between a bull and seraphim- swaggered in and launched himself on the top bunk of the bed. When they had first become roommates they used the Babel spell and a lot of creative gesturing to communicate with limited success, but after a few years of working together the pair had managed converse more smoothly with a bastardardized mix of German, English and filthy jokes.

"Writing letters back home," he replied rolling his eyes. "Lest they think I'm dead again."

Marcus gave a large rumbling laugh. "Oh please, leave it a few weeks- I beg you. I almost pissed myself when The Dragon Lady got the howler accusing her of doing away with you. It's the first time I've ever seen Wynne look slightly less than absolutely terrifying."

Charlie gave a hollow laugh. "Well, my mother makes Wynne look like a toothless Drakeling." (This was saying quite a bit, especially as their boss- a hardy, middle-aged woman with steely eyes and a steelier personality- was said to have once been carried off by a dragon with nothing more than an empty travel bag and a hard-back version of Fantastic Beasts. The tale goes that the dragon brought her back to her nest where –with the help of her old school textbook- she asserted dominance over the three drakelings, and managed to convince the brood mother that she was one of her young. Apparently a team of wizarding explorers found her a fortnight later gorging on wolf meat, but no worse for wear).

"Yunno, if your mother if still giving you a hard time about your glamourous bachelor lifestyle… you could always let her know that I have two beautiful ladies lined up for your pleasure."

"If you try and set me up with Aoife or your sister once more, I will feed you to Norberta," promised Charlie, only half-joking. Aoife was lovely, but a co-worker. After one or two rather awkward dates, they decided that they were really better off being friends. (This was only partly based on their intense support for differing Quidditch teams.) And Marcus' sister… was probably –bar Fleur- the most attractive woman Charlie had ever laid eyes on. She had a very glamourous job that had something to do with Wizarding legislation in Switzerland, loved the outdoors, and didn't mind that his job was vaguely dangerous. Sadly she looked exactly like Marcus.

Luckily she was not too put out that Charlie broke things off, citing she knew he was a lone wolf and now she was free to date the Italian Minister of Magic. In fact, toward the end of their conversation Charlie had the disconcerting feeling that actually she had been breaking up with him the whole time… also he wasn't so sure he agreed about being called a lone wolf. He liked people. He just liked dragons more.

"Haha, no no. I am not going to try that ever again. This first girl you will like. From your home country, bit of a gothic thing going on. Shocking eyes. Very hot. The second is a bit more exotic. Big girl, but beautiful. Fiery temper."

"… To be clear, you're talking about dragons aren't you? Not actual girls." Charlie replied, feeling his mood lift already. Actual girls made him a bit anxious sometimes, but dragons… at least you knew they wanted to bite off your head. With girls you could never be sure.

"Of course. The only girls worth knowing are the ones that breath fire."

"A… Hebridean Black?" he enquired, Marcus grinned broadly in response. "And… describing a dragon as big and angry doesn't quite narrow it down."

"Looks a bit like Baldric, and has eyes to match with your golden locks," answered a female voice followed by the imposing figure of Wynne Warbeck, leather-clad with silver hair pulled tight back.

"Speaking of women worth knowing…" muttered Marcus. Wynne threw him a cool look.

"A Ukrainian Ironbelly?" Charlie replied swiftly before Marcus' joking got them on Dung removal. Again. "Awesome, I always wanted to see one of them- But aren't they a bit large for our reserve?"

Wynne nodded. "We'll be releasing the Ridgebacks into the wild this week, so Aoife will be taking a team to track their initial movements around Norway. That means we should have a bit of extra space… and that you will be responsible for our three guests."

"A third dragon?" Charlie said, infinitely more enthusiastic than he was mere moments ago regarding his family's letters.

"No," Wynne said shooting another cold look at Marcus, who had obviously failed to pass on the full message. "The dragons have been rescued by the British Beast Division. Apparently some Death Eater was keeping them in his basement as an ill-thought out and forgotten weapon. They've been in the hands of one of Newt Scamander's academics- they're writing some paper on dragons or some nonsense… Your job is to look after the academic. Answer questions. Make sure she doesn't get eaten. The usual drill."

Charlie looked a touch confused. "Why me? Shouldn't someone higher up be doing this?"

Wynne shrugged. "Aoife's away. Marcus is a dolt. Baldric will probably lead to some sort of sexual harassment case, and if they don't breath fire I'm not interested. Don't complain, Goldilocks- two dragons in return for a little babysitting duty is still a win."

With that their fearless, fear-inducing leader left. Charlie sighed. She was right. Two dragons was awesome, especially as they may be able to find a breeding partner for at least one…

"So what's the newbie's name?"

Marcus, distracted by treating his new burns, looked up. "Oh Rose, or Patrice, or something. I think we should call the new dragons Aphrodite and Clytemnestra. Apparently the Ironbelly is _six tonnes_…"

Charlie nodded wistfully, turning back to his letters. His Mother's and Percy's had been put to one side (the latter inducing so much boredom by paragraph two that either he give up or fall asleep). The note from his Father was brief, but relatively positive- the promotion was going well. Ron's letter was so short that one could almost mistake it for curt, and Ginny's handwriting was more frivolous than legible (something he knew she did on purpose). Bless Bill, who kept his letters light, direct and hopeful.

Ignoring them all, he found a new sheet of parchment. His mood had lightened, and he had worked out exactly what he wanted to say and who he wanted to say it to.

_Dear George,_

_You're going to think me mad. But I am over the moon, under the troll bridge, in love. And the mad thing is I haven't even met her yet. Well… them. Yes, there are two of them. (Jealousy is a natural emotion. Feel it. Embrace it. Please be sure to let me know all the intricacies of your envy, it will only make my impossible happiness all the more impossible). It's a modern relationship but I think we can make it work. They're a little on the curvier side, with foul tempers, big beautiful teeth and an intense desire to rip off my limbs and burn me to pieces…_

* * *

Pansy felt unhappy. It wasn't a new sensation, in fact it almost seemed to be her default emotion since sixth year- if not since birth.

Usually though it was overridden by anger, guilt, injustice, longing, confusion, loathing, helplessness. However standing on a train platform next to the man she once loved, as the rain dripped half-heartedly upon them, she simply felt sad. Her trunks were packed, and her owl stowed- all that was left was goodbye. A sentiment that felt infinitely unfair. Especially now there weren't many to say goodbye to.

Millicent sniffed. "I'm going to miss you, Pans. If you don't write sarcastic letters to me that deride my existence, I'll be certain your dead and either send out a search party or have an actual party. Perhaps both."

Pansy leant forward and gave her a hug. "If I do end up mauled by beasts or locals, do know that I've left a sizeable sum of money for you. Sadly my will only bequeaths it so that it can be used to build a life-sized shrine of myself that will follow you around a pelt lovable insults at you till the end of your days."

Millicent, towering over her as usual, gave her a smile that looked as if it were almost about to wobble into wet tears before stepping back and retaking the hand of Theodore Nott, her fiancé.

"Honestly though, Parkinson, keep yourself safe out there," Nott said, giving her a serious look. They hadn't really spent much time together at school, but by a method of sad subtraction and time spent standing over dead friends at rather empty funerals, he had become one of her closest companions.

"You too, Theo. If you need anything…"

"I know. Legal advice, illicit substances and witty repartee- Pansy Parkinson is the witch to call."

"Excuse me," Draco said indignantly. "I believe those are my specialties, you plebs."

"Bribes don't could as legal advice, Draco," Pansy said with a smile. Draco trying to reclaim the lime-light –even though half-heartedly- was a dramatic improvement to the boy who sat in his mansion and patiently waited for his life to end.

"Quiet, wench. I am the wittiest and best looking of you all. And I shall never forgive you for abandoning us in such a fashion."

"But not witty or handsome enough to make me stay! Alas!"

Millicent coughed, and though being somewhat terrifying at six foot, she managed to look as fragile as she did that day Pansy had discovered her crying in the bathrooms after some sodding Gryffindor had bowed to her in the corridor pretending she was a hippogriff. From that day they had been fast friends, especially as Pansy had jinxed the student so hard he limped for a week. No one crosses a Slytherin without retribution.

"Anyway, we best be off for a dress fitting. Be safe, and for Merlin's sake be back for the wedding. We love you, Pansy."

"Love you too, Milly," she replied, her eyes welling treacherously. Along the platform station she could see Luna Lovegood, her (_eugh_) colleague, saying her own goodbyes. Thankfully, her temporarily tear-impaired vision stopped her from perceiving who the figures were. She really rather would not know or be reminded of their part in the dismantlement of their lives.

Theodore and Millicent, hand-in-hand, walked off to disapparate in a more covert location, leaving Draco and her alone.

The only one missing from their party who was alive and not in jail was Blaise, whose mother had sensibly emigrated at the most opportune time in the war. Now he did a mysterious, glamourous job for mysterious, glamourous people. On more alcoholic nights, before they drift off into bitter memory and Pansy wishing Draco would kiss her (or at least look less unhappy), they pair would half-joke that Blaise had probably become a high-class male prostitute. They stopped joking once it became apparent that this may have become an actual, quite tragic possibility. Sometimes they get letters from Blaise, but mostly they don't.

Four left. A number that could drive anyone insane with sadness.

"Who would have thought that those two would end up together?" Draco said in a low voice, looking at the disappearing silhouettes. "I mean Theo has always had an unusual taste in women, though I never thought he would go for someone who could kill him with her bare hands."

"I think they're quite sweet," Pansy replied. It was an honest sentiment. Though mostly their togetherness seemed to make her feel even more alone. Following the war, engagements had spread through their year like a weird monogamous STD. (Not that any of the Slytherins had been invited to the weddings.) Everyone seizing the day. Though Pansy really thought of it as seizing the first one you can find. Desperation, she reassured herself, it's just desperation.

…But then why do I feel so desperate?

"Pansy, the secret romantic- who would have guessed?" Draco said giving a wan smile, his blond hair sweeping over his eyes as he looked down at his shoes. "Having said that I fell for a woman who could kill with just a look- so who am I to judge them?" His gray eyes flicked up to hers momentarily, crinkling at the sides.

Pansy's heart tore a little. He doesn't mean it in that way. He's speaking about the past. He needs you too much as a friend for you to say something stupid. He has no other friends.

"You always did have impeccable taste," Pansy replied smoothly, her face an easy mask. Hiding her love had become a habit, though a painful one.

Draco attempted a true smile for her, though it came out twisted. His pale hair was perfectly coiffed, and on his shoulders balanced beautiful, midnight-black robes reeking of wealth. From a distance he looked good. Close up you could see the cracks. His pale skin was more wan than ethereal, and his trim, quidditch-physique was too lean as if a brisk wind would dissolve him. Even his speech was blunted. That humour and wit that once commanded the whole Slytherin table no longer had the confidence or presence it once did. His mind that once whip sharp was now distracted by the dead, and the endless legal battles. The guilt should have be enough punishment, having to continue once all your friends and family are dead or incarcerated should have been enough punishment.

"Pansy, we are all honestly going to be alright," Draco said softly, his pale hand reaching out to envelope her own. It was perhaps the first time he had been the one comforting her.

"I know that," she lied.

Draco used to be the star the whole of Slytherin revolved around. He came up with the ideas, he kept them in order, he was the one who looked after them. (Yes, occasionally they had to endure his frankly weird obsession with Potter, and yes, he was more of a paranoid dictator than a benevolent leader- but by god, he was _their_ paranoid dictator. And one thing Slytherin do well is loyalty, especially blind loyalty). Yet sometime in sixth year, they all seemed to have lost him. They were cast adrift, and had to endure alone. Without him the year fractured.

So Pansy stepped up. Slytherins looked after their own, and with no one left to take care of them, it fell to her.

His shoes were not the easiest to fill. Without someone feeding them instructions, Crabbe and Goyle started thinking for themselves- and frankly their thoughts were disturbing. Pansy had to start protecting from the inside, as well as the out. In the past all they had to worry about was the other houses hating them. In seventh year… everything was fear, and everything was uncertainty. So naturally, Pansy had to look after everyone.

Yet even throughout that year… Pansy felt she still revolved around Draco, her dying star. Soon perhaps to be an empty space.

"No, you don't," he said slightly more forcefully. His hand shook in her grasp and those grey eyes cast downwards, evading her. "Slytherins look after their own. No one else out there is going to. There may not be many of us left here, but we'll stay together and keep each other safe. All of us are far more worried about you. I mean- _Dragons_, Pansy? Really?"

Pansy could not help giving a low laugh. She felt off-kilter and a little delirious standing at that train platform. It was almost like going back to Hogwarts, if not worse. A midnight train holding a collection of Magizoology students, and somewhere two fire-breathing monstrosities, waiting to throw them off into the wilderness of Merlin knows where. Some would stay at the dragon sanctuary, and some would be off to Beauxbatons or Greece to have a more pleasant, luxurious field trip studying Winged Horses.

Dammit, if it wasn't for those unicorns in that one half decent Fantastical Creatures lesson, she would have spent much longer looking for a prominent Ministry job. Not that "Slytherin traitors" were among their top picks for the M.o.M graduate scheme.

Yet here she was, going down the academic route- risking dragon dung for a snowballs chance in hell to work with unicorns. Pansy, famous as the girl who caused Hufflepuffs to shake in their boots (not that this was difficult) and made Goyle cry when he got too handsy, was a push-over for unicorns. Sometimes she hated herself for it, but oh well…

There were other reasons, of course. Getting a job really was an issue, despite her grades, and getting away was tempting. Running from the train wreck that her life had become seemed impossible. Yet such an unlikelihood had somehow made her dream career seem like a strange possibility.

One thing would make her stay. But she wasn't about to ask Draco to say it. (She may have an embarrassing fondness for unicorns, but at least she had _some_ pride.)

"You know me, Draco, excitement and death-defying danger are what I'm about."

"Hilarious. I do know you, Pans, and you're more 'champagne, diamonds and subtle revenge' than 'crash, bang, please set me on fire it would be the most fascinating academic experience-"

At that point, a waft of dreamy blond hair drifted into their presence. Pansy, who had been momentarily delighting in the final goodbye, tried not to look too distraught when Draco dropped her hand and adopted a cold, faraway sneer. Others would think him rude –and indeed, he was being terminally rude- but Pansy recognized the classic Draco "Please don't speak to me lest I crumble before you with guilty apologies and heartfelt woe." Pride (and social awkwardness) stood between him and such outbursts, but there was no doubt he felt such guilt.

"Hello, Pansy," whispered Luna Lovegood, looking disconcertingly at Pansy's left earlobe for no obvious reason. "I just wanted to let you know that we're sharing a room on the train… oh, and that we're off in about a minute. Oh hello, Draco. I like your ring. Very shiny. Like a Grossbert Beetle." And with that she was off, wandering roughly in the direction of the sapphire-coloured train.

Draco, temporarily flabbergasted that someone had spoken to him without the words "murderer," "Azkaban," or worse, stumbled a thank you.

"Guess I better be off," Pansy muttered, looking distantly at the bizarre figure of Luna Lovegood. She had no idea what a Grossbert beetle was or what half the things Luna spoke about actually meant. Either Pansy was grossly uneducated on the subject of magizoology… or Luna was mental. Pansy was not quite sure which answer she feared the most.

She took a last look at the wan but still striking face of her best friend. A dusting of purple shadows bruised his eyes and his face was still too pointy to be called handsome, and yet she still felt that familiar longing. A sickening tug on her heart. "Goodbye, Draco. If you need anything…"

"I know, Pans," he replied, and for a second he looked as if he was going to turn and disappear off into the grey of King's Cross station without another word. But then he paused and raised his hand to the thick blackness of her hair, leant down and placed his lips briefly on her forehead. "I'll keep an eye on everyone while your gone. Be careful." And with that he departed, leaving Pansy abandoned and alone and wondering who on earth was left that was going to look after him.


	2. Chapter 2

I would just like to thank **the optimistic cynic** and **Tsumomo** for their lovely comments and for sharing my love of post-war Slytherin! It was my first time posting my writing anywhere, and it was so askdljaskldajaksjdsalkjd* just to know people liked/acknowledged/skimmed the initial chapter.

(*articulating my feelings is not a good skill of mine. I was happy. Very happy.)

Hopefully this chapter isn't too angsty. Next time there will be Charlie and adorableness and cuddly/deadly dragons to make up for it.

* * *

Pansy felt the train move beneath her. No longer north to Hogwarts, but south to cross the channel to Europe. A stop in Paris, a stop Serbia, then a division between those lucky enough to go to Greece and those unlucky enough to pull the short straw for Romania.

She sighed, hating herself for hoping. The chances looked good. Horribly good. Two places for equine, and just one small, life-threatening placement for dragons.

The hot cloud her breath left on the window evaporated leaving a pale, strong-featured face with an unfortunate upturned nose looking back at her. Her eyes and hair were so dark that they barely left a reflection. God, even her blank expression looked unconvinced at the odds. Despairingly, Pansy turned away from the depressing sight.

Luna, her long hair hanging like a pale waterfall, was humming absently to herself seemingly content. In one hand she was using her wand to knit a long, multi-coloured and rather wonky scarf, while nibbling at a chocolate frog with the other. Wordlessly, she proffered a chocolate frog box towards Pansy.

_Huh_?

If this had been a different time, Pansy may have ignored this strange act of sharing or even departed with a sharp comment. Having said that, she was rather hungry, no one else was around to see this, and it was perhaps the first kind act someone had directed towards her for… a disheartening amount of time.

"Thank you," Pansy said quietly, quickly nipping at a frog's head. She hated the way they moved around, and found the whole act of eating them much less guilt-inducing with a swift decapitation. "You do realize that many… in fact, most of the public and your friends see both my house and I as traitors, murderers and utterly beneath contempt?"

"Oh yes," replied Luna brightly. "My friend Ronald says all the Slytherins should be rounded up and turned into house elves. Or thrown into a volcano. Or be set upon by giant spiders. He keeps changing his mind. "

Pansy felt suddenly quite queasy. Ron Weasely had a say now. His voice mattered as one of the over-achieving heroes of the war. Perhaps worse, his voice reflected popular sentiment. Two years after the war and people still wanted retribution. They still wanted blood. They were just working out how to get it.

"And you do realize that I am the one who spoke up to say we should give Harry over to… _him_?"

"Of course. I was there. You said it very clearly."

"But instead of making me into a house elf you'd rather feed me sweets?"

Luna let out a tinkling cackle, continuing to wave her wand to a jaunty beat in front of the lengthening woolen monstrosity. "Well, I did poison them first."

Pansy, who had just swallowed the frog's arm, turned a strange shade of green-white.

"Oh Pansy! You should see your face. I was joking," said Luna, still giggling dreamily. Realising Pansy looked unconvinced and likely to shove her fingers down her throat, Luna plucked the half-eaten amphibian from her palm and bit of a leg. "See?"

Pansy's gob-smacked look of confusion and fear did not quite manage to leave her features for some time.

"O-okay. But um…. Still, it's not exactly behaviour I've become used to," she responded stiltingly. _Nor behaviour I deserve_, she thought, hating herself more. Spinning off into guilt because some weirdo who puts her shoes on the wrong feet gave you a sweet. Pathetic.

"People often think I'm strange. According to Harry, I'm an eccentric. Ronald just thinks I'm a weirdo. He's not the nicest person sometimes, but he's still nice."

"Right," responded Pansy, not quite sure what the correct response to this was.

At that moment, the door to their compartment opened to allow two girls to spill in, giggling in an ungodly cacophony. Pansy recalled them vaguely, both were in Luna's year –one in Ravenclaw and the other in Hufflepuff. The Ravenclaw girl (Delilah Something?) saw Luna and her face went through a strange metamorphosis of emotion. Initially shock, worry… and then a strangely bright look of happiness, rather akin to a chipmunk on sugar and illegally imported substances. The Hufflepuff (and Pansy wasn't even ashamed to admit she didn't recall her name) saw Pansy and froze with a look of abject terror.

"Luna!" squealed Delilah, her ponytail bouncing in a disconcertingly chirpy manner. Pansy recognized the distinctly fake tones of a girl about to suck up as if her life depended on it. "It's so good to see you! And…" Her voice trailed off just as she was about to greet Pansy.

Pansy turned her head to the window just in time. _Snub before you can be snubbed_, her mother often said.

"Hello, Delilah," greeted Luna absently. "Gertrude, you look like you're possessed by a Splicklewright. Congratulations, it's supposed to be very lucky. Or a symptom for hairloss, but I wouldn't worry though- what's a little hairloss to being the vessel for a protected species?"

Gertrude, her mouth hanging unattractively open, let out a strange gargle as she was caught between her terror at seeing Pansy and her confusion of Luna. Pansy almost let out a snort of laughter. Luna was either just as insane as everyone said, or she had the world's sharpest wit when it came to insulting people. Parkinson was beginning to feel slightly fond of the girl.

Delilah coughed, and elbowed Gertrude to sit down. The pair practically squashed themselves in the furthest corner away from Pansy. It seemed that no one was going to enquire what on earth a Spicklewart was, probably from previous experience with dealing with Luna.

The three managed to thaw the strange tension in the compartment, with Delilah asking incessant question of Luna and Luna reply in the lax way of hers. Many of the questions seemed to involve trying to stimulate gossip about Harry and Neville- but Luna's answers were too vague to be truly titillating. Gertrude eventually managed to re-hinge her jaw and join in with pathetic enthusiasm. By some sort of mutual agreement it seemed that Pansy was both being excluded and excluding herself. Dismally, she watched the British countryside pass by and half-heartedly daydreamed how _truly awful_ it would be if one of the dragons got out and chewed off Delilah and Gertrude's gossiping heads.

"So…" Delilah began, leaning forward. "How is Neville Longbottom anyway? I heard that you two are rather _close_ nowadays. Gert and I have taken to calling him the Frog Prince, because… well, _you_ remember what he was like at school (and he did have that ridiculous toad!) but he has really blossomed since then, hasn't he? So brave, and incredibly good looking- don't you think?"

Pansy, her curiosity peaked, turned an ear to the coven in the corner. Her main memory of Neville Longbottom was that time he put his elbow into a beaker of Assiduous Acid… and of course, the time when he cut of the head of that giant snake thus helping save humanity in some strange roundabout way. Pansy herself was not quite convinced that killing someone's pet was entirely heroic, but everyone else deemed it to be quite necessary. Then again, 'everyone else' always tended to be rather moronic.

Luna shrugged, her hand still guiding the magic knitting needles. The scarf must now have reached roughly thirteen feet and was making a rather awkward pile on the floor. No one commented on it. "Neville's the person he always has been."

"Of course," responded Delilah smoothly. "It's just so brave everything he did in seventh year. Unlike some."

The withering looks being shot at her now continued without any shame. Pansy could feel her cheeks start to burn, and her teeth clench. Three years ago and she would have cursed Delilah for just breathing in her direction, but right now all she wanted to do was close her eyes and disappear.

"And Harry," Gertrude crooned, her bravery returned now she realized that they vastly outnumbered the lone Slytherin traitor. "An Auror soon. Still attempting to protect us now, even after all this time."

Bad habits die hard, apparently.

Luna nodded agreeably. "And he assures me that the Rotfang Conspiracy is a total lie- which I'm very relieved about, especially as I would hate for Harry to inflict gum disease on anyone."

"…Yes. That would be… bad?" said Gertrude, blankly.

At this point the pair seemed to have realized that conversation with Luna was not going to reap the gossip and logic that they were hoping for, so swiftly changed to the subject of the placements, namely the ones involving winged horses. They nattered about Abraxans near Beauxbatons, Granions in Greece… Pansy almost crumbled. She desperately desired to join in and talk about her time at her Uncle Acheron's Aethonan stables, how she packed her jodhpurs just in case, and how hopelessly wonderful it would be to study them.

Her nails left tiny half-moons on the palm of her hands. The hateful glances being shot at her let her know they knew exactly who she was, and how unwelcome she should feel.

Fame. It had always appealed to Pansy. Perhaps it had rubbed off from Draco, or it had been instilled in her even before then… but the glitz and attention had always attracted her. Recalling how the famous received smiles and praise and deliveries of racing brooms at breakfast, it didn't seem to have a downside.

At school, lacking Cho's looks and Granger's talent, she decided to settle for infamy. The only way to stop being kicked was to kick harder and faster. She ruled Slytherin from the top-down, and beware any of the younger snakes who didn't stay in line. Slytherin was not going to be known as the stupid, losing house- and if she had to hang them upside-down for twenty minutes until they got that idea, then _fine_.

She recalled the Triwizard competitors and their partners swirling delicately across the ballroom at the Yule dance. All eyes upon them as they careened in their power, beauty and popularity. She had not felt a drop of jealousy. She had Draco. She had been chosen. And those stolen drops of Firewhisky between stolen kisses and secret smiles tasted exactly like happiness should- sweet and hot and mine.

Fame was never really achieved, but infamy she continued to get spot on. It left an unpleasant taste, the hangover of a mistake that would never quite go away. Who knew that speaking up to give Harry Potter to the Dark Lord was a bad idea? One life in exchange for them all. It seemed fair.

"Luna, which placement are you hoping for?" enquired Tweedle-dum or Tweedle-dee.

"Oh, I didn't put down a preference. Any one of them sounds interesting. Though horses do make me break out in a rash… What about you, Pansy?"

Pansy could not help narrowing her eyes slightly. Luna was obviously an expert in hidden insults, and she could not help but be suspicious that the topsy-turvy girl was trying to lull her into a false sense of security… There was the possibility that Luna was just trying to include her, ignorant to the social currents that opposed this. But Pansy's experience of kindness, cliques and humanity did not quite hold up to this theory.

"Greece- the Granians are the fastest of the _equus volaticus_, and most fascinating" she forced herself not to stumble, and to look each girl in the eye in turn as she spoke. She may not deserve civility, but she deserved a place here and she'd be damned if anyone thought otherwise. "As you know, the ancient greek wizards oft depended on them as a mode of transport amongst the many islands and mountains of the region. This makes them evolutionally unique as Greece is a Magizoology hotspot, and they were often were used to control the many beast attacks of the time. Therefore unlike most equines, they're pretty much unflappable-"

"And did you learn this while you were torturing first years during Defense Against the Dark Arts, or after?" interrupted Delilah, her eyes burning curiously bright.

"If my memory is correct, Slytherin wasn't the only house who followed the instructions of the Carrows," replied Pansy sweetly, hand subtly reaching for her wand. The Slytherins, however, were the only ones smart enough to work out a way around it.

"No one else _enjoyed_ it," Delilah spat. "What was that oaf called? Crabbe? He almost killed half of the students he was called to 'practice' on."

Oh yes. Vincent. She remembered dealing with him. Always a bad student, always told that pureblood magic and pureblood minds were superior to mudblood… and yet that was never the case, was it? Outstripped and outclassed by everyone, and Troll-level grades despite Draco's occasional efforts. (Mostly these involved removing all of his half-arsed attempts at cheating before going into an exam. "_When will you dunderheads get it? We have Anti-Cheating Quills! The only thing worse than failing is being caught! Imbeciles!_"). Yet he had one skill, one thing that his years of tempering a vile malevolence against the rest of the school had won him- a talent for torture.

She had asked, begged, threatened, cajoled, bribed, blackmailed and wept to get Vincent to stop. Nothing, not money nor pain nor pleas, would stop him. He was a boy with a talent, a boy with a dream, a boy to whom praise was suddenly given. After the first Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, Pansy had rounded up the pale-looking students, and the weeping first years and told them what was going to happen.

"_Today is not going to happen again," she said to the quiet room, as the emerald light of the lake played across the ceiling. "Today… we had no choice. But tomorrow we do. Next time one of us is told to Cruciatus another student, we fake it. Mispronounce the spell, wave the wand wrongly, make sure you don't have that malevolent feeling they're so desperately keen for us to develop."_

_All the faces looked on at her stonily, some hopeful, most impassive. She took a breath. "And you lot-" she gestured to the quaking first years. "You know how the Cruciatus feels, you know what it looks like when some one is under it. So you better act your socks off when one of us throws a bogus one to you or I will make sure you feel a proficient Cruciatus and not the half-arsed attempts we did today. Agreed?"_

_And the system some how worked. In fact, some of the first years turned out to be rather heroic little actors, and the elders managed to misuse the dark magic so imperceptibly with just a slight slur and drop of the wrist that even Pansy could not tell who was truly performing the curse and who was not._

_She made them all sign a cursed piece of paper to seal the promise (the idea stolen from Dumbledore's Army after seeing the rather too efficient effect it had on Marietta Edgecombe's face). Everyone, even those who looked like they may have enjoyed that day's monstrosities, signed. All except Crabbe. Pansy tried to get around this by telling him the promise only applied to those within the house, and he could terrorize the other houses to his demented, psychopathic heart's content. This was not an idea she was pleased with- but the more students in on the secret, the less likely it would be kept. It wasn't like Slytherin were ever included in Dumbledore's Army, or Neville Longbottom's guerrilla war. Other houses excluded Slytherin to their own detriment, so let them survive on their own._

_And Slytherin was her responsibility now. Snape was distant and no longer looking out for them. Slughorn was almost useless. Draco was gone. The world was uncertain and no one was going to help them. The only people they could trust were each other._

"Crabbe got what was coming to him," was all the reply she would give. The promise on the enchanted parchment was dissolved, but she would never admit to these harpies how they got around the Carrows' "teaching."

"A pity not everyone did. You and Draco deserve each other," Delilha hissed.

Pansy gritted her teeth. No way she would be getting into a Whose Scar is Bigger match. The losing side always failed those bouts, even if their wounds were more fatal.

"How kind of you," Pansy replied instead, forcing a laugh. "I think I deserve someone rich and handsome as well." Rich, handsome, and broken.

Delilah scoffed, and muttered a single, ill-thought out word. "_Deatheater_."

Before she could stop herself Pansy's fist had closed around Delilah's throat, and gave a threatening squeeze.

"Those are dangerous words, Delilah. I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be intelligent." Pansy whispered, her left hand pointing her wand two inches above the Ravenclaw's eye. _Then again it's Gryffindors who are meant to be brash and idiotic, and look what I'm doing_… "It is... _ah,_ unwise to throw such accusations around in these perilous times. So if you would be so generous as to direct your gaze from my wand to the wrist beneath it, I think you'll find no evidence of a Dark Mark. Just as the Aurors found no evidence of my Mother or I having involvement with any cell or movement linked with He Who Must Not Be Named. And I think that if months of Ministry Officials interrogating me, threatening my mother and ransacking my home didn't deliver evidence of either of us being Deatheaters, then maybe it wasn't the case now- was it? I may be a Class A bitch, a Slytherin and completely willing to pummel you to smithereens- BUT I AM NOT A DEATHEATER!"

Pansy, with heartbreaking dread, became aware that the door had opened and three wands were being directed at her.

"Hello, Professor Scamander," said Luna. "It's so good to meet you."


	3. Chapter 3

I lied.

There is no Charlie. YET.

He was (honestly) going to be in this section, but I was having such fun writing it that it ended up ridiculously long, and I didn't want to throw 8000 word chapters at you. It may have incurred concussion.

I really did not expect to enjoy writing this so much- and thank you so much **Tsumomo**, **ClumsyTonks** and..."Guest" as your words make me squee with joy.

So please forgive me. Here's more angst, bonus Luna and iffy name wordplay. (Dragons and Charlie to come. _Really_ this time).

* * *

Pansy, her breath coming out in angry puffs like a maddened minotaur, carefully unwound her fingers from Delilah-I've-got-a-death-wish's throat. (Though she made sure to give one last indiscernible warning squeeze).

"Um, good morning, Professor," she said, trying her best to collect herself as her mind and heart raced. _He's going to chuck me off the course, I'll be arrested, sent back in shame, oh god just feed me to one of the freaking dragons already… _"We were-"

"Just getting to know one another," interrupted Luna, whose dreamy smile almost looked reassuring. She deftly placed her wand behind her ear and gave the Professor a wide grin.

The Professor, who looked far too young to hold the title, just blinked and regarded the group as if they were a new and unknown species. He was terribly tall, and looked like an anthropomorphized stick insect. His hair was curly, but rather colourless, and his face had a rather awkward, kindly look that Pansy tended to associate with boring people who lacked a backbone.

His eyes stayed glued to Luna and (Pansy noted with interest) his ears began to redden.

"Oh, do please call me Rolf," he said extending his hand to each girl in turn, giving Pansy rather a hard look when it came to her. _Ah, dealing with confrontation by ignoring it_, Pansy noted, _obviously a born teacher_. Shaking their hands was also a wise move in terms of getting Delilah and Gertrude to stow their wands.

"I just wanted to come and introduce myself, and give you the introductory notes," said Professor "Call me Rolf" Scamander, his eyes lingering on Luna, as he unwisely stepped into the cabin and promptly fell over the multicoloured mess that was Luna's scarf.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir!" exclaimed Luna. "That's my Crumple-Horned Snorkack trap."

The large holes and very unscarf-like nature of the woolen monstrosity suddenly made a lot more sense.

"Well, I can vouch for it's efficiency," his said jovially, his face a distinctive ruby colour as the four girls helped him up.

Reaching into his leather, embossed satchel he brought out four 2-inch thick stacks of bound parchment.

"I've divided up all the placements based on your experience and resumes, though I seem to have lost the piece of paper saying who goes where –I'll find it before dinner and give it to you all with supplementary notes. In these introductory packs, you'll find the health and safety forms for each placement as well as the reading lists…"

He droned on for sometime about the four month placements with a chance for extension if the research was fruitful, and how he expected the first month or so just to involve getting to know the animals and schedule- but how everyone should remember that the research was the main aim. Ten thousand words by this point, fifty thousand words by then, submissions to _The Journal of Magizoology_ by this date and the best papers may go into his new book and blah blah _blah_… Pansy almost nodded off.

By the time dinner arrived Pansy had skimmed through the intro pack. The dragon health and safety section took up eighty more pages than the _equus __volaticus_, and contained such gems as "At all times, please remember to keep you limbs out of the dragon's mouth. If any limbs do become entrapped, do your best to remove them," and "Please note that dragons are highly dangerous, volatile and unpredictable creatures. Even their dung can, in high quantities, be toxic to humans."

Dangerous at both ends, Pansy thought dimly.

The _equus __volaticus_ sections did not lift her mood much. She'd already devoured the reading list months ago, and it didn't exactly contain any new information.

Dinner was taken in the carriage south of the sleeping area. Already they'd passed Normandy, and in a few hours they would lose their first group to Beauxbatons in the south. The journey had passed in complete silence in Pansy's cabin as each girl read through the pack and desperately tried to ignore the existence of the others. Pansy was reasonably happy with this situation, but found Luna's occasional off-tuning humming comforting all the same.

* * *

As Pansy made her way, alone, to the dining carriage she did a little mental probability. In his long meandering talk, Call Me Rolf mentioned that due to the unpopularity of the dragon placement he had reduced the number going there to just one ("Having taken months to set up the whole thing, I couldn't just remove it- Wynne Warbeck would have had my head! Also the research possibilities are astounding..."), but that he may be circulating a few of the students around in order to give them the best experience. The popularity of the _equus __volaticus_ - especially in the case of the Abraxans- meant that there was not actually that many research opportunities to go around. Apparently, they had such trouble last year that some students were reduced to studying the possible economical, ecological and theological effect of Abraxans on local weather patterns. (Spoiler alert: there was none).

Pansy did not especially care about this. She knew enough about the subject to concoct any kind of research topic from the historical influence of _equus __volaticus_, or weigh in on the ongoing metamagical debate on how such large animals (with comparatively small wingspan) even managed to get in the air.

However, if Luna Lovegood had written down "no preference" on her application sheet, then surely it would mean she was the unlucky one to draw the short straw? Pansy's budding warmth for the strange little Ravenclaw rocketed astronomically.

Pansy settled herself down in the corner of the dining carriage, with her well-thumbed copy of "Fanciful Flights: from Fairies to Phoenixes" and reread the page on Snidgets. Eventually the eleven other ex-Hogwarts students emerged from hiding in their carriages and took their places around the long table in the center of the room.

Pansy recognized a few of them. Cormac McLaggen was a surprise, as was a rather nauseous-looking Justin Finch-Fletchley. They were the only boys in a rather oestrogen heavy environment. Delilah and Gertrude appeared soon after, shooting dark looks toward Pansy, and placing themselves in the midst of a gaggle of girls who all looked entranced at the whispered tale of Parkinson's "episode." Pansy sighed, keeping her face impassive. There was no Slytherin in sight, thus any conversation over dinner was bound to be unintellectual, pointless and dull.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" came a wandering voice. The table was quite small for the number seated, though this did not stop everyone attempting to edge as far as possible away from Pansy. Power, Pansy reminded herself, fear. If you wanted to be friends with them, you would be. Fear is preferable. Think Machiavelli.

Pansy shrugged, her shoulders a little too tense to pull off nonchalant.

Luna took a place opposite her and pulled out a copy of The Quibbler. _How embarrassing_, Pansy thought, _I hope Scamander doesn't catch her reading such rubbish_… While she flicked through the luminous purple magazine (was she reading it _upside-down_?), Luna's hand played with a golden charm on the end of her necklace.

"What is that? It's…pretty." Pansy added, curiosity grabbing her out of nowhere. The girl had radishes for earrings, so surely she wasn't wealthy enough to actually decorate herself with money?

Luna extended the galleon attached to a long silver necklace that also held other mismatched charms. A glass butterfly, a paper hippogriff that occasionally flapped it's wings and a selection of Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans caught Pansy's eyes amid a myriad of other strange tidbits.

"It was a gift from a friend. It was enchanted so a group of us could keep in contact, though really only Neville and I use it now," said Luna placing the galleon in Pansy's hand.

The yellow-gold felt warm under her touch, and on the edge was inscribed the words "Good luck. I miss you. NL."

"How sweet," Pansy said, in fact thinking _how sickening_. Now I'm jealous because Neville Longbottom is sending love notes to people. So this is what rock bottom feels like. "Are you going to tell him about Scamander's little crush?"

"Hmm?" Luna replied, with a complete air of innocence.

"Oh, come on. Luna, he totally want's to _Love-you-good_, if you know what I mean?"

Luna adopted the expression that usually only crosses the faces of those… talking to Luna. "No, I really don't. Are you possessed by a Splicklewart too?"

Rolf chose that moment to enter the room. He rang a little bell next to the door, which cued the appearance of food on the table in true old-school form. After that, he made his way over to the end where Pansy and Luna were sitting, despite the number of spaces forced open as he passed down the table.

"Hello, Luna. Miss Parkinson. It's nice to see everyone finally getting along- could you possibly pass the broccoli?"

Pansy had always found talking to Professors rather awkward- especially when they were a mere heartbeat older than herself- so decided to just to sit back and watch with interest the interaction between the pair before her. It was also practically impossible to make herself heard over the loud bragging of McClaggen, who proudly proclaimed how his family owned a fleet of racing Winged Horses. If he had been closer down the table, Pansy would have been tempted to brain him with her intro pack. As it was, the distant bragging made her quite nostalgic for the old Slytherin group.

"So, Professor, what are you researching currently?" Luna enquired. In comparison to Scamander, who managed to drop mashed potato into his lap every time Luna looked at him, she was the picture of grace. Obviously knowledge that Scamander had a great big whopping crush on her had made no mark at all. Things with Neville must be going exceedingly well.

"This and that. I'll be travelling round a bit, making sure that everyone's projects are fine. Winged Horses aren't really my thing- despite the next book being about them- so I'll be looking at other beasts more locally. I'm especially interested in trying to spot-"

A loud, ominous roar filled the cabin. It was primeval, guttural, and made the bones in Pansy's limbs freeze. There was something about that sound that made the prospect of escape seem impossible.

"Oh God. Oh God," cried Justin, expressing everyone's fears. "The dragons are out. We're all going to die! _I'm _going to die!"

"Er, not quite, Mr Finch-Fletchely," interrupted Scamander, just as Gertrude was inhaling in preparation for a bloodcurdling cry. "That was just a snore-" another blistering snarl echoed from the carriage beyond them- "Dragons, and I would have hoped you all read up on this, undergo something called a 'Titan Slumber.' Most large animals have something quite similar, usually they occur after periods of long exertion, metamorphosis or during cold spells. The pair of dragons currently under our watch have been magically 'locked' into this slumber, ready to be awakened in a week's time when we they finally arrive in Romania."

The twelve Magizoology students did not look overly comforted by this, and conversation continued at much more reduced levels than before. Though Pansy did have a silent cackle when at the onset of another gargantuan dragon snore, Justin leapt into the air with a surprised yelp.

"Bloody reptiles," muttered Justin, sounding haunted. "Always the bloody reptiles."

"Miss Parkinson," Scamander suddenly began in an undertone, realizing that other students existed beyond Luna. "This is a rather delicate matter, but Delilah Root came to me about the little…um, _spat_ earlier today that occurred between you both. She was asking whether she could change rooms, but seeing as she and Miss Grundle will be arriving in Avignon in a few hours I didn't think there was much point. However, she was very keen for me to ensure that you will not… well, in her words, 'make an attempt on her life.'"

Pansy tried to give him her sweetest smile.

"I'll do my best." But no promises. "Does this mean you've worked out who's going where, Professor?" Pansy asked, her body feeling electrified once the realization hit.

"Of course, silly me!" exclaimed Scamander, pulling another wad of papers out of his satchel- which, physically speaking, must have been far too small to hold so much paper work without magical assistance. "I had written it down on a post-it that I left in my left sock. If you would pass these packs around- they're all named."

With wild eyes Pansy past down parchment after parchment bearing the names of McClaggen and Dahl and Cantankerous, until finally her own lay in her fingertips.

_Pansy Parkinson,_ it read in a cuttingly clear hand, _Romania_.

* * *

Amid the laughter and newfound discussion topic, Pansy found it quite easy to skulk out unnoticed. Her feet thumped heavily against the floor and her limbs seemed unable to stay still. It was a wonder that she made it to the correct compartment. She shoved herself inside, and stumbled a simple locking charm on the door.

_I will not cry_, she told her angry reflection. _I will not cry_.

Her ugly, bunched up face seemed to have other ideas, but she kept the tears from flowing through sheer force of will. Yet she couldn't stop her body gulping in hot angry shudders.

_I hate them. I hate them. I hate them_, her mind screamed. They can sit around with their cushy horse placements, while I… Oh for Merlin's sake, what had she put herself in for? Maybe this was a grand conspiracy to try and rid the world of Slytherins by throwing them in all the dangerous, unwanted jobs. Maybe she deserved this- for running from the battle and not picking sides. This is what happens when you're tactically neutral. This is what happens when you fall for a boy who makes bad decisions, when you'd rather be friendless than weak, when they class you as ambitious and evil from the age of eleven and no matter what you do you can never change their minds.

Evil, rotten Slytherins who strangle people on trains. Well done, Pansy, for fighting _that_ stereotype.

A small sound echoed behind her that sounded a little like "alohamora."

Perfect, an audience.

Pansy sniffed and gave Luna a ferocious glare as she entered the compartment. "_What_?"

"I just came to see if you were okay," said Luna calmly, ignoring the venom in Pansy's tone as she sat down beside her. "I know it's very upsetting to not get what you want. But I think the dragon placement will be really fascinating- Rolf was saying that he was actually expecting that placement to come up with the best pieces of research. Apparently the reserve in Romania makes some extraordinary findings, and it's not an area that many go in to-"

"There's a reason for that," Pansy spluttered. "It's because dragons are big, killer monsters that breath fire and wreak havoc. And, forgive me for not being as _cavalier_ as one of Potter's little cronies, but I like my head. I want it to stay where it is. My life may be awful, but it doesn't mean I'm _dying_ for the alternative. My skin has enough problems without burns and bite marks being added to it. Surprisingly, I did not find Hagrid's attempts to kill us during school hours inspiring and entertaining, and he is not the reason I am here. I am here because I have a freakish obsession for unicorns- _and if you tell anyone you caught me upset I will kill you, Luna Lovegood, do you understand_?"

Luna reached out and patted Pansy's arm comfortingly. Pansy was so surprised she forgot to scream insults at Luna for daring to touch her.

"Scamander also said, once you left, that your resume was too good to have you be sent off to the Abraxan or Granian reserves. It would simply provide you with the same experience."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Pansy asked, her curiosity strangely outweighing her hatred. "I was never nice to you in school. I never spoke to you. Your friends hate me and my friends- and we despise you lot in return. My-" _Yes, Pansy, you're what? Ex-boyfriend? Unrequited love? Cowardly leader?_ "Draco locked you in his house for months. Starved you. Tortured you, probably- he doesn't like talking about it. Some of the reasons his father is incarcerated are due to the crimes he committed against you."

Luna shrugged. "You were never not nice to me. Also, I don't think Harry hates anyone anymore, and Draco wasn't all that bad to me. Mostly he ignored the fact he had prisoners in the basement. Understandable, I suppose. And I know what it's like to be… not the same as everyone else. It doesn't bother me, but sometimes it doesn't feel especially nice. Any way, I hope you feel better about the situation. If you want to talk, you can. If not… I have some homemade macaroons you can have?"

"…I'll go for the macaroon, please," said Pansy, wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath. Further emotional bonding with Looney Lovegood would be humiliating. "So which did you get? France or Greece?"

"Greece," replied Luna, producing violet-coloured macaroons seemingly out of nowhere.

"I hate you quite a lot right now," Pansy said, half-lying.

"That's okay. You're not my favourite person either."


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie mooning after dragons. Pansy mooning after... not Charlie.

Accolades and butter beers go to **BlackImp**, **Sabrina Weasley, Clumsy Tonks, Tsumomo, crazy's way i aim 4, thearcherballet **and various **guests**- you've all been far too kind in your encouragements, and it's lovely to know people are reading.

And for those wondering how on earth P & C end up together (...if they do), I have sketched it out. There is a plan. A mad, maniacal plan. (Mwahahaha).

* * *

Charlie stamped his feet. It could be chilly in the Carpathian Mountains, and the autumn air was beginning to get a bite to it. They were in a rather desolate valley, close to the dragon quarantine caves. The train tracks that had magically appeared earlier that morning were empty, and the remaining group of dragon wranglers were getting impatient to see their new guests.

"Ten Sickles says that I can get the Hebridean Black into the cave before Baldrick even gets the Ironbelly out of the train," challenged Marcus, stretching his muscled arms.

Charlie laughed. "Hardly fair. You know Ironbellies are so groggy when they wake up that it'll take them at least an hour to remember they're dragons. Also we are not getting them out at the same time. Wynne would cook my liver."

"Fine, my friend, fine. If you're chicken…"

"If you're so confident, why don't you take the Ironbelly?"

"Don't insult my ego. They're like kittens when they wake up," muttered Marcus, darkly. "No fun. Hebrideans at least _try_ to kill you."

"You are a strange, strange man."

Finally, the train appeared in the distance, like a sapphire snake with a pale white mane streaming behind it. When it finally pulled up at the agreed place, the five men and three women gathered eagerly to see their new pets.

"Okay, guys- split off into your teams, we want the Hebridean out first," Charlie's voice boomed light and confident. They were all masters at getting the dragons into the temporary caves, located down the tracks embedded in the mountainside. However it was the first time they had done it with Charlie in charge. A couple of them, included Baldrick and a wizened fellow named Kerov, looked somewhat bothered by having someone as young as Charlie boss them around. If Charlie noticed their furrowed brows, he didn't show it. "Marcus and Toothpick, levitate the cow carcass- and Caesar, you poke your head in and make sure she's looking undamaged."

The door of the train opened to reveal the thin figure of Rolf Scamander, and a tall, thunderous looking girl. Rolf, despite layers of coats, was shivering and looking around with a slight air of desperation for anyone to talk to. The girl, who looked like she was cloaked in darkness with black clothes, black hair and a blacker expression, looked too stubborn to allow her skin to even prickle at the cool air.

"She looks intense," said Charlie as her gaze passed over him and stopped with a look of open disgust at the bloody carcass floating in midair like a gory ballerina.

"That's one way of putting it…" muttered Marcus, wiggling his eyebrows from behind the floating dragon snack.

Striding over, Charlie extended a warm grasp to the Professor. "It's good to see you again, Rolf, and you must be…"

The girl looked almost affronted as she gazed at Charlie, but she stuck out her hand and gripped his. She had unusually large hands for a woman, and that dark-eyed gaze was striking. Charlie felt a little guilty for a moment realizing how sandpapery his calloused palms must feel in hers.

"Pansy, Pansy _Parkinson_." She stated this in a bold way, her eyes very watchful.

"Well, it's good to meet you. I'm Charlie-" he began.

"Weasely?"

He laughed good naturedly, rubbing his hair in a manner that was both self-conscious and relaxed. "The hair gives it away, huh? Well, it's a pleasure to meet you- it'll be quite refreshing to have some new blood around the place. Are you planning on staying, Rolf?"

"No no, just as long as it takes to make sure the dragons are safe and in one piece. Pansy seems like a very…" Scamander's eyes took on a slightly spooked look, "…able and assertive student, so I'm sure she'll be just fine sorting herself out. I'll be heading back to Greece shortly. The dragons seemed very peaceful on the way down- just a couple of snores, so I'm quite happy to leave them in your able hands."

"The Hebridean looks great!" shouted Caesar, his robust body hanging off the side of the train. "Shall I wake her up?"

Charlie excused himself, and suggested that the pair of academics stood a safe distance behind the line of wranglers.

"Right, ready the carcass. Open the door, and let's get this dragon out of here!" yelled Charlie, as everyone rushed to their positions.

Clambering up to the side of the heavily reinforced carriage, Charlie did a quick check to see the Hebridean was napping peacefully before opening the gate with a clang.

The dragon looked deceptive in size with it's black bat-like wings enclosed around it's body. The spikes spanning it's back lifted and dropped about a foot with each slumbering breath. The Hebridean's face was a similar shape to a horse, except for being larger, scalier and being topped with small horns and decorated with black, serrated teeth.

Very quietly, and with the upmost gentleness, Charlie crept forward and climbed over the beast's large head. In the carriage already lay the iron head gear which he hefted over the dragon's muzzle and clamped shut on both sides.

"Claustrum," he muttered, tapping the wicked-looking contraption. With a groan it slithered shut around the dragon's teeth, locking them closed. The dragon let a small, sleepy growl but stayed still.

Charlie then rested his palms on the closed eyelid. It was dry and warm under his touch. The dark, toothy beast before him looked utterly harmless in slumber and Charlie could feel the comforting rise of the dragon's breath, in and out. Not for the first time did Charlie smile with glee at the fact he had the best job in the world. Carefully, he stroked the dragon's eyelid with his rough palms until an inch wide slit appeared, revealing a wicked purple eye. Dragons had hides so thick that they were almost impervious to magic, so any spells had to be carefully aimed at the more tender areas like the gums or cornea.

Slipping out the carriage again, he noted that Scamander and Pansy were standing a good distance away and were watching the proceedings with interest.

Pansy's expression was hard to read from here, but she looked a bit nervous so Charlie gave her a friendly wave to let her know it was all alright. Only Scamander heard her mutter, "Bloody Gryffindor bravado."

Moving back to a safe distance, and making sure that everyone was in the correct position, Charlie aimed his wand. "Vigoro."

A red spark leap from it's end and made a bee-line for the violet slit, whizzing like a firework. Like a bullseye it hit, instantly making the dragon reel back it's head as if it had just taken a nose-full of pepper. The clunky metal head gear hit the ceiling with a bang, and the Hebridean opened it's violent violet eyes wide and furious.

With a puff, a stream of midnight smoke coursed from the dragon's nose as it shook it's head viciously in an attempt to rid itself of the metal bridle. It's wings flapped weakly, still heavy from sleep, and the beast fell out of the carriage in an incredibly inelegant manner. The black claws made ugly grating sounds across the pavement as it rediscovered it's feet, then paused taking in the scene before it.

"Ventus," muttered Charlie, and from his wand burst a gust of wind that cleared the obstructing smog flowing freely from the creature's muzzle. "Marcus, bring the cow forward. This beaut looks pretty hungry."

The bloody body swung forward in the air, Marcus and Toothpick expertly levitating the cow at a distance just beyond the dragon's reach. The violet eyes distracted from the smaller, less interesting pieces of meat, watched the cow floating above it's head with ravenousness intent. It's serpentine neck spat out toward the body, but the witch and wizard deftly swung it higher. The dragon, wings failing to lift it in the air, was forced to follow the tempting morsel down the tracks toward the line of caves set into the mountain wall.

Bless it, thought Charlie. Dragons weren't the brightest sparks once they've just woken up. It had even forgotten that the metal muzzle stopped it from even opening it's mouth.

Marcus nodded to the bony figure of Toothpick. The pair began scampering back towards the caves, towing the bovine treat and bracing themselves against the gusts caused by the beast's flapping wings. The dragon's, still sleepy appendages, made it unable to fly after the floating body. So it was forced to scuttle after it, jabbing it's large head in it's attempt to reach it. In formation, six of the wranglers encircled the Hebridean, hands gripped tight on their wands.

* * *

Pansy watched the sight, mesmerized. The wranglers moved like a perfectly oiled machine, each staying a specified distance around the Hebridean- just far enough to avoid the angrily, flicking tail but close enough to jump in encase Marcus or Toothpick got into trouble. Not that the pair looked bothered by the situation at all, in fact from their smiling faces it seemed that they were exchanging jibes as they teased the beast like a cat with a play toy.

They all seemed utterly fearless.

Occasionally, Scamander would jump in with an "interesting fact" about the Hebridean, but it was obvious Pansy wasn't listening. Rolf had realized in the few days he had spent alone with the girl that she wasn't the easiest company to keep. Partly this was due to her blatant anger at being assigned to what she casually referred to as the "Placement of Certain Death." Though it was also due to the half-veiled comments she occasionally dropped about inappropriate relationships between teachers and students. Even Rolf, who wasn't the sharpest tool when it came to picking up social cues, felt the need to address these references and thoroughly assured her that he had no such romantic interest in her. Pansy had coolly consoled him that this was not what she meant, and that her tastes ran to wealthy, emotionally-detached gentlemen who looked like they had a touch of consumption- not ridiculous professors who were obsessed with beetles, tartan handkerchiefs and Luna Lovegood.

This comment had made Rolf choke on his tea, and they hadn't really exchanged many words since.

As the dragon neared the caves, Charlie jogged over to see how they were doing. "Beautiful, isn't she?" he said, looking at the captivated expression on Pansy's face.

Rolf nodded. "Quite the specimen. A little on the small size for her age, she'll probably only breath fire in a range of fifteen feet- but very well done on getting her sorted out so efficiently."

Charlie grinned. "Thanks, but she's not in the caves yet…"

Pansy blocked the chattering pair out. The dragon was, in it's own way… beautiful. It's neck had a swan-like grace, yet their was no questioning the power and strength in those jaws. It's tail almost slithered along the ground, and it was beginning to become elegant in it's limbs as the sleep wore off. Pansy had not expected it to be so captivating. The way it moved, it's size and the impossible black of the scales and poison of it's purple gaze seemed too fantastical to be real. Yet there it was in its dreadful glory. A thing of power and flight and fire. A beast all feared… all feared except these maniacs surrounding it.

Pansy had seen dragons at the Triwizard Tournament- the Chinese Fireball, the Swedish Short-Snout, the Common Welsh Green and the Hungarian Horntail. But back then she had been less worried with how impressive and terrifying the dragons were, being more entertained with the hilarious looks of fear that crossed the champions faces as they entered the arena. Oh, karma…

There was something strangely attractive about having such control and fearlessness around a creature so further up the food chain. Especially when that control and boldness was coupled with an attractive blond face, chiseled physique and mocking grin.

"Are you alright?" asked Charlie, concerned- completely interrupting the inappropriate thoughts Pansy was having about the blond fellow levitating the meat. "You look a bit flushed."

"Pansy was a little anxious about working around dragons," said Rolf- a sentence that would have preceded his imminent demise had there not been so many witnesses. "I'm afraid she may have wound herself up a bit on the train journey."

Pansy raised an imperious brow. Afraid? She was petrified. But she would rather die a thousand fiery deaths than let any of these weird dragon zealots know that she even felt a little uneasy.

"I feel fine, _thank you_. I've just never worked with dragons before. If anything, I'm nervous about choosing the correct topic for my dissertation," Pansy retorted proudly.

Charlie managed to stop himself chuckling, though his eyes crinkled at the corners. Even he, in all his awe of dragons, had been a little nervous at his first encounter. "You sound a lot like my brother's girlfriend! Did you know Hermione at school?"

Pansy just about stopped herself from vomiting at the insult, and was saved from answering by Charlie's bizarre need to reassure her. "I wouldn't worry about the dissertation, we're all Magizoologists here so feel free to bat round research ideas with any of us. And in terms of working with the dragons, it'll be fine. Once you've built your confidence up with the drakelings, you'll be bursting to interact with the large bulls."

Pansy regarded Charlie, her eyes narrowed. Other than having a complexion so poor and freckled that it already looked tanned, he was adorned in burns. There was a pearly one on his inner arm, a raised scar to the left of his eye, actual tooth marks on his collarbone… The boy's skin looked a battleground. If it wasn't for his insatiable good humour, perpetual grin and ridiculous hair, he would have seemed rather intimidating. Pansy was fully expecting that by the end of this escapade she would either look the same, or be dead. Luckily, though, without the luminous red hair.

"I can't wait," she replied, her words dripping with sarcasm. Charlie seemed to miss this, and instead gave her a bright smile and an amiable punch on the arm. Oh Merlin, he's just as mad as Luna, Pansy thought helplessly. If not worse.

"That's the spirit," Charlie said. "Right, they're just at the caves. I just need to check all the wards go up okay."

And with that the burly shape of a dragon-loving Weasley ran off with near childish enthusiasm.

* * *

Marcus and Toothpick, with practiced aim, levitated the carcass into the nearest cave just as the dragon shot in after it. The two wranglers then cast a spell causing iron bars to rise out of the ground. Four others then joined them and the group cast and recast spells of strengthening, fire-proofing and whatever else was needed to keep a dragon imprisoned.

"Well done, Char," said Mona, patting his back. "Not bad for your first time as the Bossman."

"Hey," Marcus interrupted, with a faux-insulted voice. "We did most of the work!"

"As ever, so under-appreciated…" agreed Toothpick giving Charlie an affable smirk, her bony elbow catching him in the ribcage.

The six began their stroll back down the train tracks, all in high humour. Distantly, they could see Baldrick and Kerov beginning to unlock the second carriage door.

"Hey!" called Charlie. "Wait till we get there! And poke your head in to make sure she's okay-"

An ominous clang echoed.

Charlie froze. Scamander had said one of the dragons had been snoring on the way over. Dragons don't snore in Titan Slumber.

The sound of ripping metal sang throughout the landscape, and an archaic roar reverberated from the train. Instantly, the six began running just as they saw the figures of Baldrick and Kerov fall, and a gargantuan metallic monster unleash itself into the air.


	5. Chapter 5

Apologies for the delay in uploading! Currently out the country, and as my writing is somewhat of an illicit activity I've had to resort to typing and posting in shifty backalleys. (Well, not exactly, but you get my point...)

I've written a couple of scenes later on which I'm quite excited about- mostly because they involve my favourite Slytherin rake, and Shocking Christmas Drama. Thanks to everyone who commented- it's really interesting to hear what you like/aren't so fond of.

And without any more ado... **IRONBELLY**.

* * *

Pansy hadn't been in that many life or death situations. Yes, Hogwarts and the war was always coupled with a constant fear of your own demise like an aching pain or a headache you can't quite shake, but it never felt quite so imminent as seeing a vast metallic monstrosity stampede towards you. In the instant she saw the beast in it's hunger and blood-fuelled rage, she turned and fled. There was no standing your ground when death looked at you like that. There was no standing your ground when death had teeth like knives, a body of steel and eyes that boiled red.

It's roar, a mere echo of the grumbles they had heard on the train, filled the mountains. It was a sound that told you to give up, freeze, why bother. Yet she ran. The earth rumbled, and there may have been shouts, but she didn't care. The only thing she had to do was outrun Rolf and then she might be okay.

The problem with that was that Rolf had the advantage of an outdoor life-style and ridiculously long limbs. The Professor pelted ahead of her, his panicked strides easily leaving her behind.

_Shit, shit_, _shit_, thought Pansy, trying her best to make her clumsy limbs collect themselves and pound at the ground harder. But it was no use, Rolf continued to outrun her.

There was no cover, just the flat valley ground and her stuck between an ever-encroaching lake and an ever-accelerating dragon.

There was nothing else to do but turn, stare death in the face and scheme.

She stopped, whipped round, caught a glimpse of the angry monstrosity and shut her eyes. Raising her wand she shouted "ACCIO T-TRAIN."

With a shriek and clang the front carriage of the train ripped itself free, shooting through the air. With clumsy speed it collided into the only thing between it and Pansy; the dragon.

However the dragon was at least thrice the size of the escaped compartment, and Pansy lacked the power to make it strike with speed enough to damage. Yet the beast stopped in it's pursuit, turning to rip a chunk from it's iron attacker. Red flames licked at the sapphire train as the Ironbelly furiously disemboweled the engine.

Pansy could do nothing but watch in terror. The dragon must have been twenty yards off. It's muscles undulated gross and gargantuan beneath it's dull grey scales. Two seconds more and she would have been roasted, or eaten, or merely trampled to death. Dimly, she realized this still could be a possibility if she didn't move. Her trembling hands pushed against the grass. Oh, I'm on the floor. How elegant.

Just as she was about to look around for cover, movement caught her eye- and the dragon's. Like a cloud of wasps, the wranglers descended from all angles. Their brooms whipped around the Ironbelly and they sent sparks of harmless yet irritating magic towards the dragon's bulk. Annoyed, the dragon snapped at the passing figures but did not rise into the air to follow. It was far more insulted by the body of the train, and continued to worry and viciously attack the machine with renewed fury.

A gleam of auburn red shone in the cold sunlight as one of the flyers descended in an impossible arc towards her.

_No, oh no_, thought Pansy getting up to run. "You are not doing that to meeEEEEEEE!"

A rough arm grabbed her around the waist, deposited her on the back of the broom, and the pair whipped off into the air.

"Why are you struggling? Are you okay?" asked Weasley, his short flyaway curls all she could see from her position as she clung on for dear life.

"Firstly, I am not a snitch. Secondly, I have deep distrust of flying things unless I am in control. And thirdly, I _really, really, really do not want to go back towards that dragon! Do you understand me, Weasley?_"

The maniac laughed. An actual, carefree chuckle like this was the most entertaining escapade ever. "Don't worry. I'm going to drop you, and then Rolf somewhere very safe before I go back to sort this mess out."

Pansy sighed with relief, and unclenched her rigid hold on him slightly. Her eyes scanned the impossible blue around them, the horizon crowned with mountains and the mushroom-shaped lake below them. There was no safe place. At least none she could see.

Perhaps he was taking her to a nice, protected house far away where she could Floo immediately out of here? She'd explain, bribe and blackmail her way across the border somehow. This adventure had quite cured her of any academic ambitions she once had, and she was fully prepared to return to her maudlin life and her scarce, somber friends. They could drink unwisely together while she unrequitedly pined after Draco and moaned about how unfair life was. It would be perfect.

The trouble was they were beginning to descend.

"That was an amazing move with the train, very quick thinking. Looks like you've got a natural intuition with dragons. Not many people realize they're the opposite of flight animals; when scared or hurt or provoked, they'll just turn round and attack. Completely overrides anything else. Though I am honestly so sorry about the whole situation. It's not usually this exciting round here," said Charlie turning his freckled face towards her, his voice fighting against the wind. "And I'm also sorry about what I'm about to do."

Before Pansy had a chance to threaten him with the dire consequences of his actions (i.e. being hung, drawn and quartered), he dropped her with the upmost gentleness (ignoring the nails digging into his arm and the unforgiving glare and creative curses spewing from her mouth) into the lake.

Re-emerging from the icy waters like an enraged sea demon, Pansy continued to hurl insults to the wind. "You bastard! Country bumpkin! You poverty-stricken, carrot-topped, freckly…" She drew herself up with vehemence as best she could and hissed, "_Weasley_."

His figure, which looked too burly to move with such elegance upon a broom, glided away deaf to all her rage. He dove and plucked the tall figure of Scamander from the ground with hideous ease, returning to drop him in the water beside Pansy.

"Back in a bit!" Charlie yelled, mistaking Pansy's vulgar hand gesture for a friendly wave and returning the favour.

The damp academic bobbed wetly beside Pansy. She glared.

"You're not marking my dissertation are you?" she asked coldly, the icy waters splashing against her chin.

"Er, no?" replied Rolf, not quite sure where to look in order to avoid her piercing gaze.

"Good." She raised her arm and hit him with a wall of freezing water. "YOU SAID I WOULD BE PERFECTLY SAFE."

"Well, you are-"

"YOU SAID I WOULD BE IN THE BEST OF HANDS."

"They are-"

"YOU SAID IT WAS ASLEEP- _AND_ _STOP TRYING TO SWIM AWAY FROM ME_."

"Miss Parkinson, please," Rolf said raising his hands in defense, causing him to bob under a large wave and splutter. "This is the best dragon sanctuary in Europe. Look! They've even got the Ironbelly almost sorted!"

The pair turned to regard the wizards swooping about the ugly creatures body.

"No, they haven't," she said, her eyes watching with distaste. "They're currently hitting the dragon over the head with the cow carcass. The dragon, however, seems more interested in dismantling your ride home."

"Ah, sorry. My glasses are fogged up. Also, well done with the train. Marvelous piece of magic and ingenuity."

"Don't flatter me. Or change the subject." The train had barely damaged the dragon, her spell craft too weak. It was also hardly a cunning plan, and would have made far more sense to apparate. "I want to change placements."

"I am terribly sorry, Miss Parkinson, but the others are oversubscribed as it is. Perhaps at the six month mark I can do some swapping…"

"One month."

"This is really not a bargaining matter-"

"I would seriously consider changing that view, unless you desperately want to be in constant correspondence with the lawyers of Parkinson, Putrid and Pendragon," Pansy said in her most amiable tone of voice. It was an empty threat. The family law firm had far bigger worries than her placement, no matter how life threatening it was.

Poor Rolf did try and look stalwart, despite the lump of algae dripping from his forehead. "I don't take well to threats-"

"Two months, and I won't flood you with Howlers."

"Three- and you shan't contact me at all, unless it's for academic purposes."

"Deal."

* * *

Charlie flew back to the pack of wizards encircling the _draconis ferrarius_. Kerov and Baldrick were not looking quite as apologetic as they should be, especially judging from the dark glances the other wranglers were shooting them.

"Bahaha," rumbled Baldric, the broom standing up impressively under his weight. "And I thought today was going to be dull. Right, Kerov?"

Kerov spat, looking impassive. Then again, he always looked impassive. The old Russian man with his heavy features seemed to perpetuate an everlasting distaste of the world- though Charlie tended to quite like him. He knew more mythos than anyone Charlie had ever met, and (when he made a rare attempt at being sociable) was a source of dry humour, bizarre anecdotes and homemade vodka.

"Wynne is going to skin you alive," intoned Mona, her Afrikaans accent coming out thicker in anger.

Baldrick shrugged. "Well, it wasn't my fault that the cow wasn't asleep. Scamander Junior over there must have got the Sleeping Draught wrong."

Charlie could see Mona bristling. Merlin, he was going to have fun writing this report up later. And if anything, Wynne was going to skin _him_. Charlie shook his head. "That doesn't matter right now, we've got to get this girl into the caves. Marcus- how's it going down there?"

Below them, Marcus, Toothpick and Caesar were levitating the cow carcass temptingly around the Ironbelly's head. Sadly, the Ironbelly was having much more fun wreaking violent revenge on the train. Marcus gave him a shrug, and a reassuring smile that was a little too gleeful.

"Remember when Norberta decided to take a day trip to the coast and joined that nice muggle family who were having a picnic? I think we need to deal with it similarly."

"A Mexican Standoff followed by a Kamikaze Slide?"

"Hell yeah."

Charlie sighed, repressing a slight grin. Today hadn't gone as planned- but the chance for another Kamikaze was too good to waste. Plus, the newbie definitely looked like someone who could hold her own around a dragon- perhaps babysitting duty wouldn't be quite so dull after all…

"Everyone hear that?" shouted Charlie. "I'll take point."

"Spoilsport," muttered Marcus. "You always take the fun jobs…"

The wranglers descended in a crescent around the ever-decreasing carcass of the train, which now looked like a strange writhing chimera of dragon and engine. Everyone pointed their wands, chanted the spell, and the train exploded.

* * *

Debree flew everywhere. The dragon leapt back in surprise at the destruction of it's loathed toy. It still had a rack of wheels in it's mouth, which it refused to drop. It regarded the offending wizards above. Except they weren't there. Everyone, except a lone, flame-headed figure had drifted off. Pansy, who had just made her way to the edge of the lake, could practically see the arrogance seeping off the Gryffinjock as he bobbed in the air.

The dragon unfurled it's wings, and leapt.

* * *

Pansy watched the figure fly. It almost reminded her of Draco and Quidditch- talented, but not quite to the degree of the Potter boy. Charlie shot through the air, turning and diving, the Ironbelly hot on his tail. Yet the dragon was slow in the air- so large it seemed a complete impossibility for it to fly at all. Despite this, Charlie continued to be just out of the dragon's reach. Teasing it ever on and ever faster.

All at once a putrid, scarlet flame licked from the beast's mouth, crimson against the clear sky. Charlie spun in a way that made Pansy feel sick. Beside her, Rolf gasped. But Weasley kept on flying, continually weaving… and generally looking like he was having a perfectly content time having a carnivorous winged dinosaur chase him.

Charlie ducked in, gathering speed, heading straight for the foot of the mountain where the caves were. The Ironbelly flapped it's gargantuan wings, building speed. If he breathed flame now, the poor, freckly Weasley boy would be done for. Instead the dragon gave a victorious roar, extending it's reptilian neck and followed the speeding broom straight into the jaws of the cave.

Pansy saw death once more.

The broom, and the dragon with it, flew into the quarantine caves just as the wranglers appeared to bar the gates and curse it shut. There was no sign of Charlie, just one triumphant snarl.

She screamed. It was meant to be safe. He was in with the dragon. Why would they do this? Why would they lock him in there with the beast?

Sacrifice. Always sacrifice. Why would they leave him in there to die?

She felt long, twiggy hands grabbing her and a voice murmuring words she could not quite understand.

_Why was there always death? Why couldn't she escape it? Why did people feel the need to step up and perish?_

She shook off the weak figure of the Professor, her clothes dripping wet and her body wracked with shivers. Cursed, she thought. I'm cursed.

Distantly, a gleaming red head stood up at the foot of the caves- bruised, laughing and unhurt. Pansy felt immensely stupid.

* * *

_Dearest Milly, Theo and Draco, _

_Your friendship and support over the past few years has been below average to middling, but I have mildly appreciated your presence in my short, embittered life. It is often said the best of us die young; so I thought I should forewarn you that I, as the diamond in the rough of our little group, will most likely be passing through the celestial gates of hell very swiftly. _

_Yes, if you had not already guessed- I have the dragon placement. _

_However the dragons are only a secondary unpleasantness compared to the people (this is saying quite a bit especially as in the first forty-five minutes of my stepping off the train, a dragon took wing and tried to eat me). It seems, my friends, that I have gone back in time and am currently living among Vikings. They're manners are strange and unusual. Daily they try to one up each other with tales of infinite daring and stupidity. It is as if they have some how combined the idiocy of Hufflepuff with the bravado of Gryffindor to create some bizarre sub-race of "dragon people" who glory in suicidal chores and comparisons of dragon du-_

Pansy crossed out the last phrase. Just because she had to deal with such vulgarity didn't mean they had to as well.

_The one upside of living amongst such manly, muscular men is… living among manly, muscular men. I think a fling may be in order to deal with the constant possibility of my fiery demise. I have already scouted out a possibility- he's tall, callously attractive and only speaks German. However, seeing the nature of my current level of conversation partners, not speaking English is really a bonus._

_Theo- in terms of your father, I've had a thought. Speak to Atticus Brand. He's a civil rights lawyer. He'll absolutely hate you, your Father and everything you stand for (and will tell you this), but he may be able to negotiate him into a lower security section of Azkaban. He's terribly "moral," but has a labyrinthine mind that knows more legal loopholes that you can shake a stick at. Don't let Draco steal him from you- tell Draco to use Cobweb & Crimson. Firstly, Brand will work for free due to your unique predicament, and secondly, Draco can afford the ludicrous sums of C&C. Keep me posted._

_Milly- the wedding dress clippings you left me with were (_the word **dire** was insufficiently scribbled out here_)__ lovely. Please choose the one where the top half looks like you've been mummified and the bottom half looks like it's being attacked by orchids. I'm not even going to pretend it's pretty- but I think you should give me something to giggle at in my penultimate days._

_Draco- _

Pansy paused. She had put the bit about "manly muscular men" in to sort of make him jealous- not that any of her flings had ever seemed to make any such dent in him. Well, that was a lie. Occasionally they did caused him to bend over cackling, though usually this occurred when Pansy had done away with them and it was alright for their shortcomings to be aired.

What should she say? Please feed my cat? I saw a boy on a broom being chased by a dragon, and it reminded me of you?

_Draco- not to worry you, or guilt you into buying me gifts (chocolates, tiaras and packages of money would be accepted though), but I'm here with a Weasley. A __**Weasley**__._

_Wish you were here instead of I,_

_Yours soon to be toasted,_

_P_

Pansy didn't bother to mention the research. Her friends weren't interested in it- just as Draco knew she would not listen his rambles on the fascinating clockwork minutia of charmed furniture, and Millicent was well aware that any monologue on the adorable snuffly-thing Theodore does with his nose would be met with a well-aimed hardback to the temple.

She also didn't mention how she was bizarrely enjoying being here. The Carpathian mountains had a stark and lush beauty that appealed to her (though the constant hiking was less her thing). The huts they lived in looked like small castles, with miniature turrets and fortified windows. The main building that held their offices and library was even surrounded by a moat. Something about the design appealed to the megalomaniac princess in Pansy.

Yes, it was mildly annoying that she had to share a room (and a bunk bed- how traumatisingly juvenile) with "Toothpick." And yes, she had to call people ridiculous names like "Toothpick" and "Caesar"… but the people themselves seemed rather pleasant. And they seemed to perceive her as rather heroic after the incident with the train. This was a completely novel experience for Pansy- usually she was the villain of the piece and perfectly happy to be so. Fortunately, she had threatened Scamander thoroughly over the unpleasant emotional incident when she had assumed one of the wranglers had died, so none of them would find out about that. Just because she was called Pansy didn't mean she wanted anyone knowing it reflected any part of her nature.

But the best thing about being here was that none of them knew who she was.

Even the Weasley had no idea. She had made sure to say her name loud and clearly, yet there was absolutely no recognition. Pansy was well aware that if it had been Ginny, Ron or one of the twins she'd be looking forward to months of deadly pranks, murder attempts and barren humour. Perhaps even the occasional "Pureblood/Slytherin scum/git/generic insult." But nothing. The boy, apart from being a danger whore with an unfortunate complexion, was utterly ignorant to her background and allies. When she had accidently retold an anecdote about Draco, his only comment was "That is the coolest name I have ever heard," before continuing to guzzle his dinner.

On the second night, having encountered no more dragons, useless Professors or accusations of being a Deatheater, Pansy was feeling rather content with life. As she was falling asleep to the strange whistling snore of Toothpick, she even naively thought that this placement wasn't going to be so bad after all…


	6. Chapter 6

... I feel very guilty for leaving this so long. The earlier incarnations for this chapter were just... _urgh_. Publishing them on here would have been akin to those 'gifts' cats tend to leave you in the shape of cuddly woodland animal carcasses.

Anywho, I forgot to thank **MandibleBones** (great username btw), **BlackImp, the optimistic cynic** and **Clumsy Tonks** (& the anons!) for their lovely and much appreciated comments on the last couple of chapters.

In the next few of days I'll be posting a chapter exclusively containing Pansy-Charlie, but for now... Flashbacks and Disappointment.

* * *

The remaining Magizoologists of the Romania Dragon Sanctuary were all assembled in Wynne's office. They were, unsurprisingly, in rather deep dragon dung.

Pansy sat outside, cackling quietly to herself.

Every now and then the chorus of "But it's not Charlie's fault!" was eclipsed by the domineering reprimands of Wynne Warbeck. She alternated between hissing in chilled, deadly tones and yelling in a manner that was more akin to a lion's roar. Pansy actually got chills. This was a master at work. You could practically feel them all cringing through the wall.

And they bloody well deserve it too, Pansy reminded herself as the sound of another cutting chastisement echoed down the corridor. She hadn't taken well to the quick dip in the lake, oh… and being chased by a large, terrifying dragon. However… the praise for her quick thinking with the train was a new and pleasant occurrence. (Probably what Potter experiences on a near minutely basis, if Draco were to be believed). And the rewarding wink from the blond wizard with the reckless grin was especially enthralling, but it hardly made up for the fact she was a) in dragon-occupied Romania, b) far from her faithful Slytherins, and c) deprived access to her subscription to _Witch Weekly_.

"Miss Parkinson and Professor Scamander, please enter," uttered the steely tones of The Dragon Lady.

Pansy straightened her hair, preparing herself for another onslaught of compliments and commendations. _It must not go to my heads_, she thought smugly, her unfortunate nose rising in the air. I must stay strong. _I must not crumble under the inevitable weight of their praise and decide to stay here. Remember Pansy- Constant Vigilance!_

* * *

Compliments were Pansy's kryptonite.

Every and any idiotic thing she had ever done could probably be reduced to somebody saying mildly nice things to her.

"Pansy, light of my life-"

"Bugger off, Draco."

"Queen of all Slytherin. Nemesis of the Gryffindorks. Emotional Demolisher of that House with the Unfortunate Yellow Attire."

"If you're trying to get out of Prefect duty again, I will curse you so hard you'll see stars."

"She of the silver-tongued insult and insatiable insatiableness, with hair darker than onyx, and-"

At this point Blaise, who had been recovering from last nights revelries and was draped over the common room bin in elegant disarray, threw an empty bottle of Firewhisky at Draco's head. Unfortunately Draco had rather good reflexes and dodged.

"_Aha_, NONE can touch me and my preternatural Seeker skills!" announced Draco to the hungover sixth years, who groaned in response.

Blaise moaned something that sounded like a mangle of "Shut up" and "Crucio."

"Very deft," agreed Pansy, not feeling up to stroking Malfoy's behemoth ego when she was trying so hard not to vomit on her shoes. "Nice to know your time as a ferret gave you some worthwhile skills."

Draco gave her a look of wordless hurt. Hah, served him right for missing Daphne's Birthday and the tremendous hangover he should currently be sharing with them all.

Draco slipped his thin frame beside Pansy on the sofa. Even recently broken up they had an easy intimacy. Her body was curved in the foetal position on the offensively green sofa, and he slid his arm around her scrunched body.

"Oh, my dear little lightweight. I know you are only so cruel, because you're in a lot of pain," Draco said soothingly, stroking her black hair.

Someone who was tangled around Theodore added, "And because it's in her nature."

Pansy ignored the errant voice, which an unconvinced part of her suspected to be Millicent. Her body was tense and she was looking at the soft place on Draco's neck under the sharp angle of his jaw. She remembered that touch, and the kisses, and the handholding. Their relationship had been brief in comparison to the span of their friendship, and yet it haunted her. Ghosts of their intimacy continuously reawakened whenever Draco needed something, or Pansy needed someone, or when either of them realized that the only people they could trust in their beloved den of vipers was each other. In those rare moments when Draco ceased to be that terrifying silence that had overcome him in their penultimate year, Pansy was quite willing to give him anything. Anything to stop that quiet pain that wore at him and ate at him like a cancer.

Pansy sometimes looked at the other houses in askance. Ever since that Diggory boy's death, there had been an air around Hogwarts. It had never been a safe place for them, what with evil DADA teachers, inept half-giants, werewolves, Dementors, Basilisks, runaway prizoners (_by Merlin, and they send children to this place?!_), but the tenuous possibility that the Dark Lord lurked somewhere beyond the school's stone walls set everyone on edge. None so much as the Slytherins. The other houses somehow managed to distract themselves with homework and petty drama, not to mention the three musketeers continuing to Solve Yet Another Mystery and Defeat Evil in that overachieving manner of theirs. Slytherin was different. Slytherin was the house with the highest number of parents, siblings, and family friends on the inside. Every day they awaited news that some one they knew had been called in for questioning, or worse.

They were all aware that even sitting in Potions or drinking out of hours, they were the potentially the knife at their parent's throat. They were the bounty that got threatened when ever a Death Eater made a mistake.

"Pansy," Draco whispered, his voice low and his lips close to her ear. From the bin, Blaise fixed Pansy with a defiant stare and mouthed "NO."

She scrunched her eyes trying to ignore the headache, and inhaled that distinctive Draco scent. He had gone without that awful cologne his Father had sent him, which reeked of leather, oak and unmistakable wealth. He had abandoned it after her subtle comments that it's odour was akin to an affluent Hagrid. The idiot had refused to speak to her for exactly twenty-six hours after that, but it had been worth it just to enjoy that clean smell of soap and skin.

"I just need you to cover me for tonight. Just tonight. Please."

Draco was less suave that he thought he was. When wheedling to get what he wanted he was painfully obvious- probably the result of being a spoilt only child, no one to compete with. Pansy could easily maneuver these supplications to garner favours or trust. Yet his more recent pleas had not been the usual. There was an air of desperation in them that made Pansy quake in the knee and want to lay down her life to fulfill.

"You will be the death of me," she muttered into his neck, only half-bitter. "If this hangover doesn't get me first."

Blaise's mute cries of anger were now joined with vigorous, and obscene, hand gestures.

"Is that a yes?" Draco angled his grey eyes to stare into her black. She knew the moment she agreed he would be gone, taking his warmth and attention with him.

"Don't do it," Blaise groaned, vomiting into the bin once more. "He broke up with you just last month. I may have seen you topless last night, Pansy, but I still expect you to have at least an ounce of self respect."

Draco pulled out his wand, and for a dangerous second Pansy thought this new Malfoy with his ominous silences and even more ominous undertaking was about to curse Blaise. Instead he hexed a sound-proof barrier between them and the others, enclosing them in visible privacy.

In a lower, more urgent voice, Draco continued. "Pans, you know I have to do this. The sooner I finish this… _thing_, the sooner my parents and you all are safe. I can only ask you to cover for me because you're the best liar and the only one I can trust. Please let me keep you safe."

Was there any better compliment? To be the only one trusted with knowledge of his mission, as vague as he was about it. To be one of the ones he wanted to keep safe. Draco was a bad liar. There was a desperation that exposed a troubled sincerity in his voice. He may not love her anymore, but he trusted her enough to know she would have his back.

_Please let me keep you safe._

She knew the penalty for Draco's failure would be his family. The penalty for a second failure would be his friends.

_Please let me keep you safe._

She knew she wasn't a priority for him. Family was the upmost. Family protects family. In part, she was glad she wasn't at the top of his list. It meant he would not be afraid to use her, and therefore at least have some help in this shadowy task. It meant she wasn't the reason he was in danger, or looked so pained, or had the Dark Mark inscribed forever on his skin.

_Please let me keep you safe._

Those words echoed the ones her brother had said to her last summer. Memories of that midsummer night still woke her from sleep, and imprinted a constant knot of guilt and dread in her stomach. She already was the reason somebody she loved was at the beck and call of the Dark Lord, she couldn't have Draco on her conscience as well.

By Merlin, that night. The town house had been so silent Pansy had wondered why on earth she had awoken at that hour. Then she heard the harsh panting and confused footsteps outside her door. Her brother had entered her room, a mess of blood and unwieldy relief, repeating over and over that he would make her safe. That she would be safe now. He had the Dark Lord's protection. All he had to do was disappear for a little while, but when he returned the world would be a different, better place and Pansy would never have to fear again.

Guilt wasn't a feeling she was much accustomed to, yet she had grown to know it well. Every morning she was reminded of her brother's face and her mother's accusing stare, full in the knowledge that it was because of her he was putting himself in the hands of an unfathomable, malevolent master.

It was because of those words, and that dull voice in her head telling her it was inevitable, that she had put up such little resistance to Draco's sterile termination of their relationship. She already knew she was too pug-nosed, too embittered, with too little brains and too little breeding for one such as Draco Lucius Malfoy. Her pathetic tears and halfhearted accusations of adultery ("Why else do you sneak in to the girl's bathrooms, Draco? The _décor_?") had been met with sincere reassurances, mirthless laughter, but –most troublingly- relief. He had been relieved to end things with her, quoting that endless mantra- "It will help me keep people safe."

The strangeness of it, doubled with his haunted looks and long absences, cut her vitriol short. It was no fun to try and make him experience the agony she felt when he was already distraught over things far larger and more important than Pansy would ever be.

"Pansy, will you? Please?" asked Draco once more.

Cruelly, she stayed silent for a moment longer, knowing she had already given in.

"Fine, fine. You must be quite desperate to sneak into this Slughorn party. Is Zabini your date?"

* * *

Back in the corridor, Pansy took a quick intake of breath. Her spine shivered as if trying to shake off the unwanted memories. If only she had denied him. If only she had been more selfish and refused to cover him throughout all those Prefect patrols. Perhaps he would have failed to let in those Death Eaters. Perhaps Dumbledore would have survived, and this whole mess would have gone down differently.

"Miss Parkinson, are you quite alright?" Scamander muttered to her in an undertone, as he pushed the door to Wynne's office open.

"Quite," she hissed back, watching the other faces in the room morph from submission to morbid interest in her distress.

It was stupid to think in maybes. Especially in this case- if she hadn't covered for him Voldemort would have killed him and his parents. This world may be an awful place filled with prejudice, celebrated Gryffindors and goddam dragons, but it was far improved by having Draco in it.

Pansy was well aware in which event she aided to conspire most of the ill in her family's life, the one thing that would have to be changed to make so many people's lives better. Sometimes she wondered- if she had a time turner, would she have the guts to go back and stop it?

Deep down she knew the answer was no. It was one thing to want her mother to be happier, to wish for one brother to be freed and have the other alive again… It was quite a different beast to end her life before it even began.

"You do look a bit pale, Pansy. You do realize you're not in trouble?" came Charlie's deep voice from her left. Despite just having been ripped apart by his boss, he seemed strangely concerned about _her_. Weirdo. "What you did was heroic, if mildly ill-thought out- but then again, I'm not exactly one to give out prizes for intelligent decisions in tight situations."

"No, Goldilocks, you are not. Everyone apart from these three, _out_," said Wynne coldly, surveying her minions scamper out of the office as quickly as possible. Pansy's first impression was that she was standing before an Amazonian ice queen. Like the rest of the Magizoologists, Wynne looked far from the typical library-bound academic and more like someone who caught and killed her food by hand. "And I'm afraid, Weasley, that's not quite the case. Miss Parkinson, you used a _train_ to stop a dragon. Though I would like to applaud you for what was undoubtedly quick thinking at the time, such treatment of an endangered animal is criminal."

Pansy was suddenly pulled out of her pensive depression, and began to wave goodbye any hopes she had of getting a Nimue Peace Prize or even a pat on the back.

"The European Committee for the Control of Magical Animals has been breathing down my neck ever since a certain incident involving Norberta and a picnic basket. I can simply not let this mess go unpunished."

"I'm sorry," said Pansy, dumbfounded. Either side of her Charlie and Scamander looked equally gob smacked. "Did I… _hurt_ the giant bloodthirsty beast? Bruise it's delicate ego somehow?"

"Merlin, no," replied Wynne, rolling up her sleeves in a brisk manner. "It's a _dragon_. It'd take a lot more that a barely propelled engine to get through that hide. But I'm afraid, at least for show, I am going to have to suspend you from any active duty with the specimens."

"Oh," grinned Pansy. "How utterly terrible."

"That's unreasonable," interrupted Charlie. "Her whole degree could be at risk. She didn't do anything wrong! In fact, if she had failed to Accio that train these two would be dead."

"A fact I am completely aware of. But it changes nothing."

"Yes, Weasley," agreed Pansy, elbowing him sharply in his broad ribcage. "Please don't go all white in shining armour on me. The punishment fits the crime, and I will accept it gladly."

"Really, Ms Warbeck, I must agree with Charlie- how will Miss Parkinson complete the research requirements of her course without any access to the dragons?" chimed in Professor Scamander. He seemed immune to Pansy's crippling stare, seemingly sincere in his concerns over her academics.

"A problem I understand, Professor. Yet as you told me, Pansy admitted that she may not be… _present_ for the full year." Wynne uttered the word 'present' as if she truly meant 'capable enough.' "In which case she can carry out a literature review during her time here, as well as helping with any chores."

"Wynne, that hardly seems fair!" exclaimed Charlie, who looked at Pansy with… concern?

Wynne gave him a sickle-shaped smile.

"Talking about 'not fair,' we have yet to discuss your punishment for this outrageous display of ineptitude. I am well aware it was most likely others in your team who caused the ruckus with the unloading, and much of the fault falls upon those who failed to properly anaesthetize the Ironbelly," Wynne gave Scamander a look that could curdle blood. Rolf became increasing interested in his shoes, and his ears turned an embarrassed shade of maroon. "But it also revealed your lack of control and foresight, therefore I have no choice but to suspend your research with the drakelings."

Charlie's face looked like it was about to crumble. A muscle in his jaw carved tight shadows into his face. Despite her barely contained glee, Pansy felt a slight twitch of guilt for the Weasley- which was ridiculous, some time away from winged reptilians might be good for his health! With some effort, Charlie managed to control his emotions and gave Wynne a brisk nod of assertion.

"I understand."

"I truly am sorry, Charlie. You were doing so well with them. Your extra time during this suspension of duties shall be to assist Miss Parkinson. I trust I can rely on you both not to do anything stupid… or at all similar to Marcus' usual behaviour?"

With that, they gave Rolf an awkward goodbye as he clambered into the fireplace and Flooed away. As Wynne ushered them out of the room, Pansy couldn't help notice that she looked slightly guilty to have caused Charlie such hurt. However the silver-haired Dragon lady noticed Pansy's enquiring look and transformd her face into it's regular steel glare.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

"Hmmm?" replied Charlie, turning his aqua gaze toward her. Beneath his darken brow, his eyes were impossibly blue.

Pansy bit her tongue. She wasn't sorry. If she started to apologise now, she'd never stop, and yet…

"I'm the one who should be sorry. But thanks anyway," Charlie gave her a half smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I'll come and get you tomorrow. Soon you'll know the joys of badly written field papers and treasure the many hours of polishing metal muzzles."

"I can hardly wait."


	7. Chapter 7

Surprise! Quick update and longish chapter. Should warn you- the likelihood of this occurring twice in a row is slim...

Hope you like the update- as always any comments you have on the how you think the plot is ticking along/characterisation is developing/the excessive quantity of dragons (or lack of!) are more than welcome. (And **the optimistic cynic**- when it comes to Charlie and dragons, that is an understatement!)

Anywho, onto LotR references, Bonding and Euphenisms!

* * *

"_Get out_."

"Huh?" Charlie awoke from his daydream and peeled his eyes away from the bright sunshine outside the window. Sitting opposite him, Pansy looked almost possessed.

He looked down at his watch. They had been sitting in the library for fifteen minutes. In that time, she had somehow gone from being well coiffed, if slightly drowsy… to wild haired, mad-eyed and surrounded by an imposing number of Dragon Anthologies.

"I said out," the dark haired girl hissed. "You keep fidgeting. And sighing. And looking as if you are on the verge of death. Go. Outside."

It was true. Charlie did not do well indoors- especially if he lacked an occupation. There was little point re-reading anything in the Sanctuary's finite and out of date book collection, and he had already completed his paperwork and re-imagined the entire 1995 Chudley Cannons win against the Harpies. There was simply nothing to do but be on hand encase Pansy needed anything, as well as daydream about doing his actual job.

In the distance he could see the large frame of Caesar and the diminutive figure of Toothpick coming back from a morning hiking up mount Drocea to monitor how the Ironbelly and Hebridean were fairing in the quarantine caves. He wished he could go up and check on them. The Ironbelly may have been suffering from acidic build up after the stress, and the Hebridean may need attention as they occasionally got a little excited with their food and would choke on the bones. Right now Charlie would give anything to put his hand down a Hebridean's gullet to pull out a stuck rib, just to be out of the stupefyingly dull library.

"Out. Please. It's hard enough trying to translate Ye Olde Dragon Lore into modern English without fearing you're going to expire from sheer boredom," the she-demon moaned. "Bloody hell, this book even refers to dragons as Fell Beasts and Nazgul-birds. How medieval."

"No. It's fine," replied Charlie bravely. "I'm meant to be here encase you've got any questions, or…"

"Get lost in this labyrinthine library?" replied Pansy stiffly indicating the four bookshelves and wonky three-legged table that made up the 'extensive' archive. "Somehow run into a dragon between section A to F? Become overwhelmed by the Dewey Decimal system?"

"The Dewey what?"

"It doesn't matter, oh He of the Unsubtle Sigh."

Pansy rested her forehead on her hand, snatching her long fingers into her dark hair, almost as if she had the weight of the world on her mind. Charlie took a moment to study those hands; the square palms and almost skeletal fingers. Not hands much accustomed to work, he thought. Her face was half-occluded by her arm, as if she were trying to block out his existence.

"There is an alternative, if you need a break…" began Charlie, as Pansy instantly snapped the book shut and stood up.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

* * *

"… _This_ is what you call a break?" asked Pansy indignantly, dragging her shovel and Cleansweep Five behind her. "_This_ is embarrassing."

Charlie and Mona exchanged a look. Mona had bet eleven sickles and three rounds of feeding duty that the new recruit would turn out to be a snob. Having noticed her sneer and snub-nose, not to mention her strange aversion to dragons, no one had bet against her…

"Something wrong with mucking out dung, Damsel?" replied Mona, somewhat imperiously. "Too good for it? Think Muggle hikers coming across big piles of this stuff won't get a little suspicious? Everybody poops. Even yourself."

"What?" replied Pansy, shoveling waste into the hexed recycling bag. Once packaged into the charmed container, it would be shipped off for a hefty fee to wizarding farms all across Europe. Pansy made a mental note to include this resource in her investment portfolio. It sold like gold dust. "I wasn't talking about the shit. I used to do Pony Club at my Uncle Blackthorn's stables. Believe me when I say this is nothing. What's embarrassing is riding around the mountains on this rackety Cleansweep."

Charlie suppressed a laugh at Mona's little 'Humph.'

* * *

Two weeks into the placement, Charlie and Pansy had sorted out a reasonable work schedule. She would study in the library for the morning, while he avoided fidgeting, tapping, scratching, coughing, humming, and breathing too loudly. He was, however, allowed to doodle dragons, help Pansy with the occasional Dracozoological question, and theatrically mime undergoing death-throes of boredom every forty-five minutes as long as his re-enactments remained entertaining.

In the afternoon, the pair would tag along to other people's chores and enjoy banter with Marcus and Toothpick, lecherous discussions with Balderic, and attempt to make Kerov experience a facial expression whenever possible. They had yet to succeed in the latter.

Pansy was anxiously awaiting the moment Wynne would trust her enough to let her go without the red-headed shadow. The boy seemed more like a Labrador than a researcher, sulking when stuck inside and bounding about when given freedom of the outdoors. With that in mind, Pansy attempted to train him.

Any time Hogwarts or innocent questions about her background would come up, she would find a subtle way to cause him pain. It was cruel, but she had seen such conditioning work wonders on her Aunt Cecelia's wombat, which used to have an unfortunate habit of soiling the floor and mutilating the neighbours. Charlie must have thought she was the world's largest klutz as whenever they drifted dangerously near one of these topics she would step on his foot, spill hot tea on him or some how manage to stab him with a pen (if not a combination of all three). Pansy detested doing such things as she was of the opinion that clumsiness was not a valid personality trait. She would have much preferred people to think of her floating through life with cool and elegant distain, rather than tripping about as a blundering health hazard. Neither could she vouch for the effectiveness of her conditioning tool, though it did work quite well in changing the subject.

None of the others were Hogwarts graduates- Marcus went to Durmstrang, Toothpick was from the States, and Balderic was most likely raised by wolves. This made Charlie the only potential weak link in her Hogwarts-free haven. The obvious problem arose whenever the pair began to run out of conversation- an inevitability when they were forced to spend almost twenty-four/seven in each other's company. Pansy could deftly steer the conversation away from rocky topics for awhile, but she knew one day he would ask any number of awful questions and she would be stuck adrift on the sea of social awkwardness and isolation. Conversely, all the effort she put into avoiding discussions of Hogwarts meant that she was actually chatting to the Weasley far more than she had ever intended to. _Careful- poverty may be infectious_, echoed a familiar sneering voice in her head. The voice was not her own, and for once she was angry at it's intrusion in her peaceful school-less world. Draco and his views can be stuffed.

The advantage of this continual scrabble for conversation topics meant that she ended up learning far more about Magizoology than the textbooks could tell her, and also far more about Charlie Weasley. For example, he was a Seeker in school, had atrocious hand-writing, and used to own a stuffed dragon called Georgette. (Pansy, desperate to avoid other topics, was forced to admit that at one point she owned a stuffed unicorn named Sunstar. What she left out was the fact she still owned Sunstar, as well as a fleet of other stuffed unicorns whose names ranged from Nightmare to Buttercup Sparklestar).

* * *

"You're sure there are no dragons in this area?" muttered Pansy.

"For the fifteenth time, Damsel," replied Caesar, as he, Charlie, Marcus and Pansy polished metal bridles in the light of the falling sun. "The Romanian Longhorns have gone south to hunt."

"And if they don't find food, you promise they won't come back?"

"Yes."

"And they don't typically hunt humans?"

"_Yes_."

Pansy paused for a second, twisting her increasingly aching wrist. "… How do you _know_ they won't come back?"

Caesar took a deep breath, his colossal shoulders rising and falling. It looked like he was having immense trouble controlling himself.

"Charlie. If you don't take her inside –_quickly_- one of us is going to lose it and go on a not-so-accidental killing spree."

"But who will finish off all the polishing?" asked Marcus innocently.

"I will. Just. Cease. The. Questions."

Out of earshot the three escapees burst into laughter.

"That was impressive," said Charlie. "Cruel, but impressive."

"Fifty-seven minutes and twenty-two seconds. That is a new record," congratulated Marcus, rewarding Pansy with his attention.

"Well, when you said Caesar was the most patient man alive… I knew it would be my life's work to break him."

Marcus gave her a wolfish grin. "And break him you did. I had no idea someone could ask the same question sixty-nine times in a row and make it sound sincere. But I shan't have my title as The Most Annoying on the Mountain won so easily. I bet I can get him to break in under fifty."

_Is he flirting with me?_ thought Pansy, giving him a half-smile. _I think he's flirting with me_. "Double or nothing?"

"Oh Merlin," said Charlie. "No more bets. With Marcus they get completely out of hand-"

"Charlie is correct," he murmured, eyes dancing. "This bet was entirely too tame. Who bets with money… when we should be betting with forfeits?"

"No," Charlie said, trying to be forceful but being impeded by his impenetrable good-nature. "Pansy is new, and you're already in enough trouble with Wynne-"

"I think that is the Prefect in you talking. Pansy here doesn't have any of those silly Prefect notions in her head, do you?"

Pansy was about to reply proudly that she had actually been a Prefect, _thankyouverymuch_… but there was something about the way the sunset hit the planes of Marcus' face that made her squeak, "Nope. None at all."

"_Großartig_," came the devilish reply. "I best get to my disciplinary meeting with my favourite Dragon Lady. You and I shall finalise our forfeits in time for the camping trip, I think? Aufwiedersehen, Charlie. Till next time, Damsel."

Watching him stroll down that hill (_goddamit_- he even strolled in an attractive manner), Pansy clenched her stomach. She was well aware she may have acted… on the simpering side. Mentally she prepared herself for an onslaught of teasing.

"So back to the library?" asked Charlie, his masses of red hair glinting in the setting sun.

Huh? No cruel jests? No despairing looks? _Nothing_?

"Don't worry," replied Pansy, grateful and confused. "I wouldn't do that to you. Also I do not need a babysitter to read books. Really."

Charlie scoffed. "If you're making bets with Marcus, you may need someone looking out for you. Last time I lost a bet to him, I ended up running starkers through the drakeling pen with nothing but an expensive piece of venison to protect my…er, pride."

"Sometimes I do wonder how on earth this place remains licensed," said Pansy wonderingly, with a touch of relief in her voice. It looked like Charlie had no idea how obvious Pansy had been in her attention to Marcus. Unsurprising, really, since he seemed to have the social awareness of a particularly bright rock. Mona's obvious and continuous fawning over him seemed to go completely over his excessively crimson head. Mona annoyed Pansy no end merely because there were elements in her attentiveness that hit an uncomfortable chord with the way Pansy sometimes used to act around Draco.

"They need somebody to do this job- and I think we already employ all the eccentrics willing to do it."

"Good point, Weasley. Good point. On a separate note- referring to your privates as 'your pride' may come across to some people as being somewhat overconfident."

If this comment had been to a Slytherin, the natural response would have been something along the lines of "Not overconfident, Pans. Merely accurate." (Which in fact, Blaise had –charmingly- said to her at one point). Instead Charlie, chronic Gryffindor that he was, choked on the air and turned the same colour as his hair.

For a second Pansy was afraid he wasn't going to recover. _Dammit, how am I going to explain it if he chokes to death? Sorry, officer, I offended his frail Gryffindor sensibility and he died on his own euphemism. _How idiotic- Gryffindors mated for life and were as prudish and goody two shoes as… Gryffindors_._ Mentioning private parts was like shouting "Boo" at a Hufflepuff.

"Okay, there?" Pansy asked, gruffly patting his back- which was her equivalent of intense medical attention.

"Yep, just give me a second."

"It's lucky I said overconfident and not cocky. You may have had an aneurism."

"Not helping."

* * *

"Pansy, why are there scorch marks on the table and..." upon seeing her seething looks, "and why are you angry at the sausages?"

"I was trying to cook them," Pansy said shortly, lack of caffeine and food making her rather dangerous before noon.

"…and you tried a Vulcan Hex rather than a Domestic Charm?"

"Yes," Pansy growled.

Charlie gently extracted the sausage links from her hands. "Come on, watch me."

Pansy followed him, and stood sulking as he readied the saucepan and taught her the correct cooking spell. Soon the sausages were hissing temptingly. Charlie had deftly realized that this was going to be the start of her problems, and clearly pronounced the spells for the washing up and coffee without drawing attention to the instruction.

"Who taught you to cook?" Pansy inquired, the smell of the sausages reviving her.

"My mother. Not that this really counts as cooking. Though I can make a mean Sunday roast, and a six-tiered wedding cake. (Don't ask, my manhood may not survive the explanation). So, you a House Elf brat?" Charlie asked before he even realized the words had left his mouth. His eyes went so wide that Pansy was momentarily stunned at how blue they were. Sky blue, with dark flecks like waves in the ocean.

"By Merlin, Pans- I'm so sorry. It's what my brothers call_- I'm so sorry_."

Charlie was so aghast at the possibility he may have insulted Pansy that she actually burst out laughing (a thing that rarely happened before midday).

"Oh, Char, if you want to insult me you'll have to try a _lot_ harder than that. And yes, I do have a house elf. Her name is Pokey, and in many way I am her brat…" Pansy looked wistful for a second as she poured them both coffee, and drank hers in one. "She practically raised me. In fact, my mother only really started taking an interest in me around the age of five because I had begun wearing a pillowcase and asking if I could do the laundry. So what other domestic skills can you teach me before I destroy the kitchen?"

"I can teach you some more cooking charms. Also, I'm a mean darner. My mother felt the bizarre need to teach us all how to knit- probably so we can infect the rest of the populace with Weasley jumpers," he gestured to his navy jumper, smiling broadly.

"I'll give that a miss," said Pansy grinning into her cup.

"Wise choice. I'm well-versed in laundry and ironing spells- though I should warn you that I can never get the socks to match up quite right."

Pansy fanned herself. "My, my- stop, you're overpowering me with the extent of your domestic godliness!"

"Laugh all you want- once you've done Dung Duty at the caves, you'll be begging me for those charms."

"Point taken," replied Pansy, wincing.

"You really aren't offended?"

"What?"

"The house elf thing. Caesar was the same when he first arrived. He once tried to dust the living room and ended up conjuring a small tornado. I don't think that about you- that you're a brat- it was really just a thoughtless comment-"

"Charlie, please. If my ego had been so terribly bruised, you would know. My revenge would be disproportionally grand, swift and unsubtle." Pansy gave him an imperious yet reassuring look. Geez, amongst the Slytherins 'House elf brat' would have been a compliment. "If anything, it was heartening to know you're not sickeningly affable all the way through. Really- it was worrying me how someone could be so perfectly perfect all the time. It must be exhausting."

"Hardly," Charlie muttered, looking darkly at his coffee.

"You are nice to everyone. _All_ the time. You never have an off moment. Never snap, insult or berate. You even look apologetic when you accidently stray too close to sarcasm. I've seen you come back from a six hour stint, covered in dragon shit, smiling, joking with Marcus, complimenting Mona, offering to do more shifts for Wynne, and somehow managing not to punch Baldric. You're insanely nice. It's frightening."

Charlie gave her an unimpressed and disbelieving look.

"What? You think you're some kind of rude barbarian? Tough shit, Weasley. I, Pansy Parkinson soon to be M.A.G.E, am here to tell you you're a lovely bloke who everyone likes. And it's frightening. Is there some sort of drug that keeps you going? Are you snorting fairy dust?"

"_Everyone_ doesn't like me-" Charlie replied, chuckling awkwardly. There was a strange forcefulness to Pansy's compliments that almost made them sound like insults. Fortunately Charlie had spent enough time with her over the last fortnight to realize her intensity merely exposed her eagerness to get her point across. Everything about Pansy was to extremes. She laughed like she was hearing the funniest joke, and she sulked like the world was going to end. For someone as naturally conciliatory as Charlie, who looked for exhilaration in his work and not people, it was… a new experience to find that excitement in an individual.

"They do. Even Kerov likes you. And he hates everything. He even hates that he likes you. It's immensely entertaining."

"It's not so weird. I mean- everyone likes you too-"

Pansy let out a cackle, almost upending her coffee.

"Weasley, I had no idea how naïve and entertaining you were. Mona barely tolerates me. Marcus doesn't know what to make of me. Toothpick and I get along okay- but we would never _choose_ to hang out together in any other situation. Wynne despairs of my presence. Baldric just wants to- I'm not even going to finish that sentence lest I vomit- Baldric is _gross_. Caesar only gets about fifty percent of my humour. Georgie is nice to me, but would really rather I wasn't around. Kerov and I have a beautiful mutual love-hate relationship fueled by Russian insults and vodka... Leaving the only person who likes me, being you, and that hardly even counts because you like everyone. And such lack of discerning taste is really rather insulting. I have fantastic taste, therefore like hardly anyone."

Charlie served the sausages, and watched with mild amusement as Pansy ravaged them as fiercely as the drakelings at feeding time.

"I don't like _every_one," Charlie said in an undertone, poking at his sausage half-heartedly.

"Charlie Weasley- if you're about to tell me you don't like me then…" Pansy took a moment to ponder her threat as she chewed the succulent morsel in her mouth. "By Merlin, I really don't care as long as you keep cooking me these sausages. Really. You can hate me with a vile and murderous rage, and I will not care as long as you feed me these at regular intervals."

"I don't like Baldric. As you say- he's gross, and vulgar. I don't hate him. I don't hate anyone- No, that's a lie," Charlie fell silent.

"Oh, a list of people Charlie hates! This should be fun and short-" Pansy said brightly before faltering, she hadn't noticed the ever present grin of Charlie's face fall. The expression it now held was terrible and dark. His eyes looked grim, and old. That light way he carried himself was gone, and with it the illusion he was an unthreatening man. Charlie wasn't tall, just a mere inch above Pansy, but his bulk and contained muscle gave him a gravity others lacked. He was built for strength and speed and the outdoors, and it had left an edge. An edge that had been sharpened.

"We don't have to talk about-" Pansy began quietly, an ominous premonition coming over her. We don't have to talk about the war. Please don't talk about the war.

"Fenrir Greyback, he mauled Bill's face. Lucius Malfoy, he embroiled my sister in some dark magic when she was about eleven." He didn't notice Pansy flinch. "Tom Riddle, and his cronies, who are reasons George lost an ear and… and Fred is no longer with us."

Pansy shuddered at the name. That name. He used it so casually. Tom Riddle. It sounds more like the name of an adventurous school boy, instead of the leader of a band of murderers.

The silence drew on, leaving Pansy awkward, afraid, unsure of what to do. She reached a hand out and touched the top of his wrist, gently. She couldn't bear to meet his eyes. She couldn't bear the thoughts in her head. Part of her wanted to sympathize, to empathize, to apologize. So many stupid –izes. She wanted to say sorry for what had happened to him. But it was an empty, damp thing to say- and wasn't she always angry that _Slytherins_ had to apologise for murders and sins they did not commit? She would never forgive herself for offering him such a weak, childish word- and neither would he.

The only thing would be to exchange scar for scar, wound for wound. I'll take your bruise if you take mine. But even then it turns into a tragic tale of one-upmanship. I lost a brother, you lost a brother. One of yours is scarred for life? Try life-imprisonment. Feel like swapping?

And she was on the wrong side.

You can't offer sympathy if those you're tied to did the taking.

She didn't want anyone to know her alliances, as innocent but damning as they were. She loved this anonymity. People could hate her for just being Pansy now! Not some Slytherin cow, befriender and sibling of Death Eaters.

But Charlie saved her from saying anything by doing something truly bizarre. She had only rested her fingertips on his wrist in a small token of acknowledgement and sympathy, yet he twisted his wrist under her touch allowing her to feel the harsh contrast between the soft skin under his palm and the rough callous of a burn. He then moved his hand down, her fingers tracing another sickle-shaped scar underscoring his thumb, and then captured her hand in his grip. Holding it.

It was warm, and for the moment his touch distracted her hazardous thoughts, comforting.

"Sometimes," Charlie, began to admit with a hint of humour re-entering his voice. "Sometimes I even hate Harry Potter."

_Bet he'd love to know I wanted to send HP to Voldemort with a bow_, Pansy thought sardonically, a poor-humoured snort leaving her mouth. To her surprise, Charlie too let out a strange bark of laughter that masked the ominous brightness in his eyes.

"Weasley, you are a strange one," Pansy said, giving his hand a squeeze before extracting it. It was nice holding it, and it was probably rude to abandon it so quickly, but she wanted to reverse out of… _this_, before it got awkward.

"Whatever. You think I'm perfectly perfect."

"Quiet you. I said it in a haze of hunger and sausage madness. I also said you were on drugs."

"You said everyone likes me. So you must like me too," Charlie's face had gained a wicked smile.

"I said it because I thought you were about to self-flagellate from insulting me. I am neutral to you. Your hair is too bright and I find it offensively blinding at this hour of the day- don't you have a dimmer switch?"

"Hey, you also said you loved my sau-"

Pansy whipped out her wand. "Finish that sentence and you won't have a sausage left."

And with that she grabbed his untouched plate of food, and reversed from the kitchen at a demonic, newly caffeinated speed.


	8. Chapter 8

There is a ...change in the air in this chapter. And latin. Because latin is the coolest of the zombie languages.

Hope you're all having a good week- thanks to **TamariChan, ClumsyTonks** and the **optimistic cynic** for their lovely comments. I'm having a lot of fun dabbling with the later chapters at the moment (mostly because some of my favourite characters pop up)... and I would say more but if I don't sleep now I may become one of those mad people with no boundaries.

So- _Latin, Letters and Lies_

* * *

_Pansy,_

_I gather you are well. In regards to your letter, your brother is as you would expect. _

_I was at the Bulstrode's Secret Garden Party the other day (wonderful décor- almost managed to distract from the migraine-inducing sight of multiple Bulstrode chins), and Millicent informed me of your curious choice of placement. I, of course, knew where you were- but was surprised that you chose to inform others about the whereabouts of your little holiday. "Off cavorting with dragons" does have a rather butch ring to it, don't you agree? I hardly think anyone in that line of work is married (or at least I hope not- the idea of making more sweating, brutish workers is vile)._

_Fear not though, darling, I did the rounds and notified everyone that your time travelling round Europe was purely a cultural experience and to add to your adequate list of accomplishments. I made an especial note to inform Theodore Nott's mother (such a charming, handsome boy –obvious he is both short-sighted and in possession of remarkable patience to be engaged to that bullish girl. Darling, please do make note, an engagement is __not__ a marriage. And, even you, sparkle next to such a monstrosity as that unfortunate Bulstrode)._

_Did you know that it looks like Theodore's father may avoid the Kiss after all? Apparently they've employed that swot Atticus, who argued it on 'moral' grounds. Therefore the Notts may once again be an acceptable family to dine with, despite the fact his father obvious killed those muggles_ (the word "mudblood" was heavily crossed out). _Quite the relief- I was getting so tired of having the Flints round, and the Notts do have a dash more breeding, don't they? (Speaking of the Flints, that Marcus boy is still single. Probably because he had that squint… But being comfortably wealthy and well-bred do make up for so much)._

_In any case, Pansy dearest, please do your Mother a decency and avoid any facial scars or lost limbs. I already have an imprisoned son, I don't think being cursed with a crippled daughter would be especially fair. I think you've hurt me enough already. _

_Kisses,_

_Tabitha Parkinson (nee Tremain)_

Marcus (dragon-wrangling Marcus, not sexist pig Slytherin Marcus) regarded Pansy from across the breakfast table. The painfully well-sculpted planes of his face were pulled into a puppyish look of confusion.

"Char, I had no idea the British were such private people. Do you all burn your correspondence?"

Above her forgotten toast, Pansy's slightly vacant look was turning to one of maniacal glee as the parchment caught alight splendidly. The fire danced in her black eyes as the letter turned into a plumage of flame. Whenever people met her Mother they were always struck at how petite, beautiful and un-Pansy she was. Tabitha Tremain, pureblood society beauty, was the centre of scandal and hilarity. She didn't have many close friends- you only had to scratch the surface to find venom- but she had many close acquaintances. All who adored her… from a distance.

"Letter from home?" Toothpick asked, bright pink eyeliner flashing as she blinked.

"Good guess. It was just my Mother recommending that I avoid facial scarring and that I should try to steal my best friend's fiancée."

"Ouch. I thought I had it bad; my Father sends me regular encouragements to become an accountant. He doesn't really understand wizarding jobs- can't believe there's any money in it." Tabitha paused, her feline face caught mid-thought. "I suppose, in my case, there's not…"

Marcus gave his magnanimous laugh at the end of the table. "Charlie still wins the Unfortunate Letters From Home Game."

Pansy's hackles rose slightly. A little part of her brain warned that this was a bad route to go down if she wanted to remain anonymous, but a larger considerably stupider part was telling her this was a game she could win. After reading Letter Number 584 In How To Cripple Your Daughter's Self-Esteem, Pansy felt like she needed a win.

"Oh, really? Challenge accepted," she said turning on an unsuspecting Charlie, who was shoveling egg innocently into his mouth. With his hair ruffled in fiery curls and navy jumper on back to front, he looked like an unmade bed.

"Please, no," he groaned. "It's not a title I'm proud of owning."

"Great," replied Pansy. "Because I'm going to take from you. By the look of this… pile of cinders that was once the letter, I gather she wrote it after her third gin and tonic of the day, but before the fifth glass of bourbon."

Charlie routed around on the pile of letters on the table until he found a piece of parchment with a tasteless gingham border. "You see this? It is the fifth letter my Mother has sent me. _Five_ letters. Written in _six_ days."

"On half a page of parchment my Mother tried to set me up with two different men. Her record is fitting eight suitors in one paragraph."

"My mother does the same. Last time she wrote to enquire if I'd like to have tea with a young Medimage… called Paul. That was the most awkward reply I have ever had to write," said Charlie, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Especially as up until the point I found out she was describing a man, Paul was sounding like he was rather a catch."

"Gosh, I remember reading that letter!" exclaimed Toothpick. "Almost persuaded me to give men another try."

"Hmmm…" Pansy scratched her chin. She had a lot of ammo in the emotional damage inflicted by her Mother cartridge- but most had inconvenient context. "Oh, you can't beat this. For my fifteenth birthday my Mother threw a party. All my friends were there. There was an appropriately mountainous pile of presents, and a cake in the shape of a dark-haired woman. I, _foolishly,_ thought it was a surprise party for me. However when it came to the toast (which my Mother gave herself), dearest Mama announced that it was a spontaneous party to celebrate _her_. Apparently she always felt somewhat melancholy around that time of year, so felt she needed a pick me up."

"FOUL!" yelled Marcus. "Free throw to Charlie. This is a competition of Worst _Letters_ from Home. Not Traumatic Experiences Caused By Mothers."

"Though you would have definitely won," added Charlie looking aghast. "Probably."

"It wasn't all bad," admitted Pansy, bitterly. "Getting to eat a Red Velvet cake in the shape of her head was strangely satisfying. So, what is your final blow?"

"The Howler," sighed Charlie. A beaten look froze his face as he re-lived the memory. "I don't know if I can even repeat it."

"Too bad, because I can," chirped Toothpick with relish. "Charlie's Mum sent _Wynne Warbeck_ a Howler accusing her of doing away with her beloved boy just because he's a bit slow at replying to her letters. You can imagine the fall out from that."

"Oh Merlin."

"Believe me, however bad you think Wynne reacted, the reality was ten times worse."

"A hundred times worse. Hilariously worse," said Marcus with a reminiscing look in his eye.

Charlie said nothing and continued to look traumatized. He didn't look much like Ron, who was tall, lanky and pale. The condensed muscle and broad, weather-beaten cheekbones were much more appealing than his unfortunate younger brother's destitute looks. For a second Pansy froze and halted her thoughts on whatever devious trail they were about to go on. "Appealing" and "Weasley" were not words that fit naturally in a sentence together. Instead she returned to shamelessly staring at the golden-haired god that was Marcus… who was casually ridding his ear of any wax. Charming.

"So…" began Pansy, working out how she would word this. "How bad would Wynne react if I asked her if I could start working with the dragons?"

There was a sound of cracking mugs and tinkling cutlery as three pairs of eyes turned wondrously toward Pansy.

It had been a decision Pansy had been pondering the moment she had discovered how few Lit Reviews achieved the higher grades and became published. The fact that they were tediously dull to write was also a contributing factor (even Charlie's re-enactments of someone dying of boredom were getting a little stale), as was the unexpected letter from Luna. Her note, bizarrely written on the back of a HELP FOR HIPPOGRIFFS poster and –Pansy was convinced- partly in code, rambled about how exciting her research into the hunt for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks was going. Pansy, having attempted a reply at least twice, had given up trying to make reading in the library and polishing gear sound adventurous. She wasn't Hermione Granger for Merlin's sake (and thank Salazar Slytherin and his lacy underwear for that). She was here _to do_ research after all, and all that time sitting around was giving her far too much opportunity to mull over past problems. Especially blond, sneering, handsome, traumatized past problems.

She had received a short but humorous letter from Draco that had neither informed her of anything relevant to him nor calmed her worries. At least fearing for her own life would be a preferable distraction to the agony of worrying about his.

Also, being referred to as "Damsel," no matter how much everyone reassured her it was an 'ironic' nickname, was getting on her nerves.

"Are you being serious, Pans?" said Charlie, his blue eyes bright with the hope he'd be back with his precious homicidal reptiles. "You shouldn't feel pressured to do this- and Wynne isn't one who takes being questioned well. She may say no. Loudly."

"With violent emphasis," added Toothpick helpfully.

"_Yes_," she replied, annoyed. "I wouldn't bring it up unless I was sure." I am so very much NOT sure. Please, please some one stop me.

Weasley practically leapt across the table to Pansy, snatching her easily from her chair to spin her round. Pansy's senses were assaulted with a blur of autumnal colours and the utter awareness of Charlie. He gathered her up so easily and his laugh was so bright and he was so _there_. He kissed both her cheeks laughing, and something about that and the way Toothpick and Marcus were shooting each other knowing looks, swung her back into reality.

"Weasley, this is awfully endearing, but I can't breath. I like breathing." Her reply was strangely tempered. Her tongue had been on the verge of saying "Drop me before I get poor people diseases," yet the hug wasn't all that unpleasant and such insults tended to make Weasley look like a kicked puppy. Pansy wasn't sure why this bothered her. She didn't even like puppies.

"Sorry, it's like Christmas and my Birthday all came at once," said Charlie, placing her feet back on the ground like a gentleman.

"And Valentine's day," muttered Toothpick innocently. Pansy shot her a dark look. She liked Toothpick despite the flagrant muggleness, snoring and her exasperating pixie-like prettiness, so decided to ignore the comment instead of reciprocating with violent, murderous revenge. To her dismay, Marcus laughed at the comment instead of growing dark and brooding with jealousy. Charlie didn't bother responding, as he was already bounding out the hut to head over to Wynne's office.

* * *

To their tremendous surprise, Wynne granted Pansy and Charlie permission with the merest nod and delicate raise of her eyebrow.

"Finally. It was about time you both began pulling your weight."

Pansy was just about to retort that she _had been_ pulling her weight when Charlie dragged her out the room lest they became victims of a violent workplace crime.

* * *

"So… was that whole story true? About your Mother?" asked Charlie as they flew side by side across the mountainous terrain toward the Drakeling pens. He thought it be best they start with something simple. And toothless.

"Calling me a liar, Weasley?"

He turned to look at her. He felt practically slovenly in his Fire-proof leathers next to her elegant shape clad in jodhpurs and a turtleneck. Black against the blue sky, the windswept strands of her hair tried their best to escape her harsh ponytail and a sharp smile guarded her face. Like many uncomfortable with flying, she sat too straight; her muscles and tendons taunt. Yet she often held herself like that, her statuesque figure tense and tempestuous, as if challenging the very air around her to a fight. There was something unconquerable about her, Charlie thought not aware of the small smile tickling the edge of his lips.

"Never. It just sounded horrendous. And it reminded me that I don't actually know much about you."

"Worse things have happened to people," she replied lightly, her dark gaze fixed ahead. "And that's not really surprising, is it? We're strangers."

"Hardly! I've told you loads about me-"

"Hmmm, yes, have I mentioned you talk too much?"

Charlie usually laughed off her sour retorts, realizing it was just dry humour. Many people thought Pansy's bitter conversation was her being bitchy (which sometimes it was, though Pansy felt she erred more on the side hilarity than meanness. Often she ill-judged this and accidently formed arch-nemeses where she was trying to form friends. Hey, you win some, you lose some). However, this time, Charlie's grin fell and he got that kicked puppy look that Pansy found maddening.

"Do you do that on purpose?" she spat against the wind, tempted to hex that look permanently on his face as revenge.

"What?"

"Look like I've stolen your favourite stuffed dragon."

"Don't bring Georgette into this!"

Pansy scoffed. "I'm a private person. In this day and age, it's not unusual. And it's not wrong. People aren't accepting of things they don't know, so why would I give them a chance to despise me?"

Charlie tucked he scarf into his jumper, shivering against the cooling wind. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing to be private. Gods, it's not like _I_ am. I hardly tell anyone about… It's just- you don't have to go to such lengths to hide yourself. It's a really tolerant group here. And we live in a different time to what we did ten or fifteen years ago. Everyone is equal and welcome. People don't care anymore if you're female, Hufflepuff, Muggle-born…"

Pansy froze in the air. Charlie floated on, spewing his utopian bollocks, utterly unaware as he neared the ground that she was still twenty yards up in the air and pointing a wand at him.

The fireball aimed at his foot came as quite a shock, and it if wasn't for the heavily Fire-Proofed Leather he might have lost half his toes.

Charlie was instantly shot back to that night at the Battle of Hogwarts. Instead of the Romanian mountains he saw darkness, flashes of red and green, and bodies. Fred's body. Blood and breath shuddered through him, and he spun round ready to curse –no, ready to _kill_- a Death Eater. Instead he saw Pansy storming down on him, whirling her broom like a scimitar and cracking him on the skull with it.

"You pompous, chauvinistic, over-privileged male! ARE YOU AN IDIOT!? A BLIND, SOCIALLY UNAWARE GRYFFINJOCK? Oh, of course now the Dark Lord had been defeated, the world is sunshine and rainbows and equality," Pansy gave him another whack on the head for good measure, and then aimed for softer areas like her brother had taught her. Unfortunately there weren't many areas on Charlie that were soft, Pansy noted amid her anger as her arms began to ache.

Charlie raised his arms to protect himself, and wasn't quite sure whether to run away or rethink his rule about hitting women. Not that he wanted to hurt Pansy, he just wanted this ferocious tirade to stop before he lost an eye and more of his dignity.

"Pansy, what are you-"

"And YOU. You poverty-stricken, ridiculous-haired, CHARIZARD! YOU accuse me of being MUGGLEBORN? And a HUFFLEPUFF?! And a WOMAN? ….Um," the slight lapse in logic made Pansy pause. Pain flooded into her arms as her anger dimmed slightly. Geez, it's times like these I should really remember that I'm a witch with a wand, she thought angrily.

Pansy dropped the broom with derision. Her breath came out in angry gasps. She knew she was about to do something stupid, she was about to cry in front of a bloody Weasley just because he made a senseless, offhand comment. Even worse, she knew she was going to say something even more stupid.

"We live in different times, do we? Not so long ago I was laughed off the Quidditch pitch because boys in my house decided that widening the try-outs to include girls was a ridiculous notion. And no more racism is there? The Death Eaters may be reduced, but they're not gone. Most of them aren't even in jail. And they're not the only racist group out there. If you read the news, you'd be aware that some are claiming that the Dark Lord's half-Muggle parentage explains his homicidal and psychotic tendencies. They even write scientific papers to back their claims up! Apparently the Muggle genes are overcome by the chaos particles of magic. Oh, and let's not forget the casual racism that pervades common folk. Even my own Mother (who believe me when I say she has fucked a Muggle or two in her time) would disinherit me if I had the misfortune to marry one.

"Don't even make me laugh with that 'it doesn't matter what house you're in crap.' Families have been divided just because their child was sent to the wrong house. Think of what happened to the Black family! Even your own family! I was standing in front of that trollop you call a brother just before Sorting and even he complained about the possibility of not getting into his precious Gryffindor. How can there not be bias and division when we're divided into a set of arbitrary characteristics at age eleven? Why put ilk with ilk? Because we want to accentuate the characteristics until ambition becomes greed and bravery becomes recklessness? Why do we have to generalize our complexities?

"How can you stand there, and tell me none of these factors would influence the way you thought about me, when they're the most important factors of all?"

"Because they wouldn't." Charlie replied simply, regarding the hot tears spilling freely from Pansy's face with painful tenderness.

"Either you're a liar or so secure in your pureblood and Gryffindor background that you don't see the truth."

"Pans, I'm well aware Parkinson isn't a Pureblood name, if that's what's the matter-"

"I'm not Muggle-born, if that's what you think. My Mother's Pureblood stock, through and through." _Multum valet coniunctio sanguinis_ is the Tremain family motto. A bond of blood is powerful. "And the closest Muggle relation to Edgar Parkinson was two generations ago." The Parkinson motto was _Simul astu et dentibus utor_. I use my cunning and my teeth simultaneously. A threat to distract from their painful stench of new money and new blood.

"And I'm saying no one cares!" Charlie said, inching toward Pansy as one would approach a dangerous and injured beast. She stumbled back, almost hissing like a cat.

"No one cares _here_. That is completely different to saying no one cares."

"Okay. Okay. You're right. There are some topics that… people find difficult. There are still old prejudices that people are aware of, and, it's hard to get past them. And it's hard for me to understand- but I want to understand, Pans. I do." Charlie continued to approach her slowly. "I suppose I can't speak for everyone. But… Nothing you could tell me could make me change what I thought about you. I mean- hitting me over the head with the broom has made me rethink ever calling you 'Damsel' or questioning you upper body strength again. But that's it. Honest."

And out of nowhere, Charlie embraced her. It was an awkward hug, but Pansy was so exhausted and embarrassed and incensed that she just leaned into the shallow dip of his shoulder, and wished she could melt away.

"I am sorry, Pansy," his hot breath escaped down the back of her collar.

He wasn't entirely sure if his apology was big or specific enough, and he still could not get his mind around quite why this topic affected her so. He felt her volatile form enveloped in his arms, and for a moment experienced a flicker of wonder very similar to the sensation he got when around the dragons.

Sometimes there is a moment when you come into close quarters with a beast, when spells and charms won't work, and you're forced to use guile to sneak quietly and calmly past their defenses. Often this occurs with wrangler-raised dragons, unused to the dangers of the mountains, who've managed to get themselves caught in the wild or who fall ill and are in need of attention. These beasts, despite your careful approach, oft turn their muzzles toward you and ponder whether to suck the marrow from your bones or crisp the pigment from your skin. Three dragons Charlie had raised from eggs had been caught thus when they had stopped being the tolerant little snappers and had grown into large, merciless hunters caught by fate in unfortunate circumstance. Each had turned to him like this, and every single one had bowed their murderous jaws away from him, and chose to let him past unharmed.

"I'm sorry for hitting you with the broom," Pansy mumbled, her head faced away from him. Involuntarily, he inhaled the spiced orange scent from her hair.

Pansy felt a laugh rumble through him. "No worries. And I mean it, the whole it doesn't matter _to me_ what house, what background… or what sex you are –well, quite honestly, it would be a bit of a surprise if you revealed that you were a man. But I would do my best to not let it affect the way I thought about you."

Pansy snorted, and disentangled herself from him. "Sorry, I did go on a bit of a tirade… To be honest, you're not the only one who mistakenly thinks everything is picture perfect now The Big Bad Guy is dust. Anyway, please lead onto the pens! I feel a dangerous encounter with teacup dragons is quite what we need to get over this awkwardness!"

The pair began hiking up the hill, cautious of each other's company and making careful jokes and conversation.

"And as if you could ever be a Hufflepuff," Charlie began jovially, as Pansy's eyes went wide with worry. "Not that that would be a problem- But I think it unlikely a Hufflepuff would call some one a poverty-stricken, ridiculous-haired, Chari-something."

"You do have ridiculous hair."

"You just lectured me on equality! And fairness!"

"I lectured you on your vastly mistaken view that we live in an unbiased time. I said nothing of Rights for Orange Haired weirdoes," Pansy gave him that half-smile that meant she was (half) joking. Spinelessly, she ignored her 'poverty-stricken' comment. The faster it was forgotten the better.

"Cruel, cruel woman. Anyway, as I was saying, you're definitely a Ravenclaw. No doubt about it. Nerdiness just comes off you in waves-"

"Slytherin, Charlie."

"Yes, you're right, of course. How could I say no one cares about houses and blood purity when twenty five percent of us are bloody vipers? Common knowledge that there wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin." His pleasant face crumpled with distaste. "My Dad always joked that upon sorting they should be rounded up and sent to some kind of correcting facility. In fact, in hindsight, maybe that wasn't a joke…"

"No," said Pansy, catching his wrist and looking him dead in the eye. The wind tore at her face as if it wanting to sweep her words far away. "I'm in Slytherin."


	9. Chapter 9

"Slytherin," Pansy repeated, as Charlie failed to respond. _And proud of it?_ She thought of adding, _we're here –we're potentially evil- get used to it?_

Silence ensued.

Charlie nodded. The straight lines of his face made indecipherable hieroglyphs that Pansy could not fathom. His face was usually so open, every expression free for all to read and enjoy. Upon the mountain top, with the wind stealing colour from his face and coursing around them like an avenging power, his stony features made him look like a strict Seraphim ready to pass judgement and justice.

"So are my family, my friends," Pansy's voice could not help but say, digging her abyss further. "They're not- not all of them are… Some of them are just misunderstood." She finished lamely, wiping the tedious tears from her face.

"Okay," replied Charlie colourlessly. He turned and continued up the mountain path. She had no choice but to follow in silence.

A high wrought iron gate came into view. It's cruel iron bars created a courtyard before a high cave that was protected on all sides by craggy cliffs of stone. The gate was at least twenty feet high, and was topped in vicious spikes. Below the barbs was a tangle of spidery writing that spelled out a warning, "Steal a Sleeping Drakeling, Wake Death."

A chill that was neither the wind nor the coldness emanating from Charlie struck her spine. They stopped a few meters from the gate where a line of stones marked an invisible boundary. Charlie's face, a pale ghost of skin between his flame of red hair and olive green jumper, failed to turn to her as he spoke.

"This is the Romanian Longhorn Drakeling pen. We look after a variety of dragons here, but the main aim of the sanctuary is to try and raise the number of Longhorns in the wild. It's why we're the most famous sanctuary in Europe- we're the ones who've had the most success with returning young dragons to the wild and protecting their numbers," Charlie's voice continued to reel off a clinical list of facts, his voice uncommonly unsoftened by laughter or jests. "Longhorns have always been prized for their parts as potion ingredients- and their increasing rarity is driving up prices. Hence the gate, the Druid Stones and the countless other protective charms that you can't even see. We keep the drakelings aged between six and eighteen months here-"

"-Because why hunt down a dangerous grown dragon when you can go for the smaller version?" completed Pansy, her eyes watchful and wary. She didn't know how to deal with this not joking, distant Charlie. She wanted to learn the rules to this new relationship quickly so she wouldn't… bother him.

She knew about Longhorns- they were basically the pandas of the wizarding world. If Pansy hadn't shattered things, Charlie and she would probably be joking about their suicidal tendencies and terminally low sex life… Well, she would be joking, he would be blushing and probably defending the honour of the ridiculous reptile.

They parked the brooms against a boulder and emptied their bags of the additional protective gear; Flame Resistant Gloves, a burn kit, the world's most unattractive goggles, and a black dragon tooth adorned with silver runes. The tooth was attached to a chain that Pansy placed around her neck. The secondary canine was part of a matching set, all from the same dragon skeleton, that allowed the wearer into the restricted areas of the Sanctuary. Across the Sanctuary lands were dozens of charms to bewitch and beware Muggles to stay away. All were rather innocent hexes, mental prods to turn around or cues to initiate the world's most unappealing storm to hike in. The dragon magic was much darker stuff, and Pansy did not really want to find out what would happen if she crossed certain marked boundaries without The Black Tooth. All she knew was that beneath the ring of stones more dragon bones lay, as if in wait, biding their time until a trespasser made an unfortunate mistake.

"You'll want to put that under your shirt," Charlie advised, nodding to the tooth. "Little blighters will grab onto anything loose."

"Thanks," she replied politely.

They crossed the boundary together and as they approached the gate, individual bars slithered from their holding spot and reached for Pansy. First one would slip behind her, coaxing her in before another distended to do the same. Briefly, she was in a cage of iron bars built for her shape. She looked for Charlie behind the jungle of ebony; he too was held in the ephemeral prison. His gaze was fixed ahead, impatient. A fist clenched in Pansy's stomach- she had been expecting him to watch her, to check she was all right and to give her some easy reassurance with his gaze. Instead he leant forward, eager to be out of the tangle of iron. Pansy shifted, doing the same, feeling cold.

The last few bars raised with a groan before her, curling back like insect legs to replace themselves at her back in their original rigid position.

That was when Pansy heard the growls. They were higher than the Iron belly's, more of a buzz. A pitch-black cave stood across a courtyard of grass and stone. From it, glowing eyes flickered.

A small snickering noise stemmed from the shadow, and a bony, ravenous head revealed itself. The Longhorn was about the size of a large canine with a grinning wolfish muzzle. However, unlike hounds, it lacked the softness that distracted one from it's predacious ancestors. This beast was an inimitable killer. Sickle-shaped teeth interlocked along it's long grin, and it's emerald head was adorned with a pair cruel looking, twisted horns. In the sunlight, they glittered gold.

A scattering of claws announced it's charge, followed by three smaller counterparts. Each beast leaped toward Charlie, their translucent wings flapping to give them height.

At least he had prepared her for this welcome, Pansy thought sardonically. Yet her fingers still twitched to use her wand. The four terrors dragged Charlie to the floor giving strange barking screeches and purrs. The ginger maniac laughed, giving the largest a scratch behind the ear before wrestling it in return.

"Yeah, I missed you too, Aramis. Athos, what have I told you about chewing on kneecaps?" Charlie crooned at the beasts, as the slightly mottled drakeling with the enthusiastically wagging tail made amorous advances toward his mid-leg.

Pansy tried not to be too put out that he spoke to the dragons more warmly than he did towards her. It would have happened anyway, she reassured herself before a prodding thought reminded her that she should not mind.

The littlest Longhorn, who was about the size of Pansy's cat, approached her and gazed up with yellow, accusing eyes.

"You going to give me trouble, punk?" she asked the dragon.

Fearlessly, it sneezed at her.

Charlie and his "friends" continued to play, utterly ignoring Pansy and the midget dragon. He was supposed to be showing her how to handle the animals… but Pansy loathed to tear him away from this reunion, just as she loathed to speak to him before he spoke to her. Instead she gave the little Longhorn an appraising look, recalled what it had instructed her in "Dragons: Do's and Don't's", then reached down to pluck it up by the tail… before stopping. The Longhorn's eyes narrowed in a very familiar, warning way. Even while reading the section on Drakeling Handling, Pansy had been quite surprised that more people hadn't lost multiple eyes and limbs by treating dragons in this manner. Dragons had incredibly flexible backs, monstrous teeth and hardly polite personalities, and despite this people thought it was best to pick them up by the tail?

She shifted her shoulders, and reminded herself on what Slytherins were renowned for: Self Preservation. (Also, Amazing Hair- but that was hardly going to help her now).

Instead of following the handbook, she shifted around in her pack for a sizeable chunk of raw lamb and set herself down on the cleanest looking rock to begin cooking it with her wand. The drakeling toddled after her, nose snuffling at the meat.

Interesting fact: Dragons only breath fire because raw meat gives them acute indigestion. In the wild, it tended to be the parent's duty to roast the food for their young (who are flameless until about twenty-four months old)- but Longhorns were about as maternal as Pansy's own mother and oft served their babes misguided meals of burnt hedgerows and battered telephone boxes.

The drakeling waited patiently for the meat to be properly burnt (Pansy was thankful for the Fire-Proof Gloves as her Cooking charms still weren't quite up to scratch- unlike her Fireballs, which were top notch), before setting on it with relish as soon as Pansy threw it down. While distracted, Pansy flipped out her measuring tape and notebook to begin measuring it's wingspan and length, doing her best to avoid touching the ravenous teacup-sized monster.

Charlie currently had his knee trapping the largest drakeling's head to the ground as he checked it's teeth, tail and scales.

"So… that story you told about the guy called Draco. The one where he got turned into a ferret. That was Draco _Malfoy_?"

"Yes. He's my best friend." Can't lose anything by being honest now, Pansy thought, then recalled that she was alone on a mountain top with some on with a potential motive and deadly, fire-breathing weapons.

"Ah," Charlie frowned, throwing Porthos to the ground slightly too hard as he began to clip the dragon's claws. "I thought this Daphne was your best friend. Or was it Millicent?"

"I have a lot of love to give. I've always preferred to think of Slytherin as the house of free love and fickleness. Oh, and ridiculously good-looking people. Though I am biased… and ridiculously good-looking."

Pansy thought she could see the beginning of a smile at Charlie's mouth, but wasn't quite sure if it was just hopeful thinking.

A dark cloud covered them briefly. Above them a flock of three Thestrals floated like silent death across the sky, their membranous wings casting a grey light. Charlie caught Pansy's black gaze. A reminder. Separately, they both wondered whether there was anyone left in their generation who could not see those remembrances of death.

A shrill growl echoed by Pansy's elbow and the littlest Longhorn, D'Artagnan, poked at her with it's stubby horns. Obediently, she moved her arm and the drakeling jumped up on her lap, padding around in a small circle to get comfortable before settling it's head on her bony knee. D'Artagnan felt like liquid warmth and released loud purrs like a particularly content cat.

"Told you," Charlie said. Pansy jumped- she had drifted off, distracted by the emerald gleam that rose and fell with each of D'Artagnan's smoky draconic snores, missing his silent approach. She looked up at his face- it still wasn't right, as if his face was wearing an expression a size too tight. This masked Charlie unnerved her, and she felt nothing but guilt for making him this way. Lies weren't difficult, they were part of life. She should have remembered that.

"Told you that you were good with dragons. We best be getting back."


	10. Chapter 10

_For reasons that are beyond me, my heartfelt apology about the er... slight discrepancy in new chapters, was cut out of the previous post._

_The gist was: SO SORRY, but I entirely mean to finish this story. __Mostly because I haven't even had a chance to play with my favourite characters and have Pansy shout at them. I'm excited about the future shouting._

_Current delays include the joys applications- but fear not, I am actually a few thousand words ahead in the story. __This is a bit of a teaser chapter- it was originally part of a monster post that became so grotesquely gargantuan that I had to put it out of it's misery Jack the Ripper style. Hopefully it'll shape up better- I know where I want to go, it's just getting there without getting distracted by the potential of adding surprise manticores. _

___Many thanks for the lovely comments (it's so nice to know that you're still interested!), especially _**the optimistic cynic **(I promise there will be banter)**, ClumsyTonks**___ and the ones from guests that I excitingly had to use google translate for. Chapters will keep coming, and will __continue to do so until we reach the (unseasonal) Christmas drama I had planned. _

* * *

"I don't know what you've done to Charlie, but you better stay away from him," commanded a voice behind Pansy. She was making more glorious coffee to fuel her through the next few hours of essay writing (or, more accurately, Professional –_Probably Factually Correct_- Bull Shitting), and this unpleasant tone was really distracting her whirling brain from the tedium of dragon husbandry.

"And what have I done to him?" enquired Pansy tiredly. Luckily being physically and mentally exhausted helped her acting skills, though they did not dull the guilty clench in her stomach.

Mona was leaning against the edge of the door. She was long, lean and menacing, despite her perfect golden curls and chipmunk face. It was the kind of look that Pansy wished she could pull off- sadly heavy features and a pug nose did not translate to "Sweet Girl Next Door" in quite the same fashion. Pansy couldn't quite work out why Charlie hadn't hit that already, when Mona was quite so pretty and obviously so very keen to be hit… Pansy blinked. The coffee was messing with her language skills. That or the tangible aggression coming from the killer blond was aggravating Pansy's less polite side.

"…I don't know," Mona stated sharply. "Charlie's too nice to tell anyone. But it's clear you've done _something_. The pair of you hardly do any chores or wrangling together-"

"My choice," interrupted Pansy. The faster she escaped this conversation the better. "I thought having a variety of experience here was best, seeing as I'm not planning on staying here long. Plus I presumed Charlie would want to get back to his Top Secret Research, of which Wynne has forbade me from taking part in."

Mona hmmphed. "Yeah, I'm _sure_ it was your choice. Plus, you two don't act normally around each other. Either you avoid each other's eye contact, or take it in turns to glare."

"Charlie's gingerness offends me. Sometimes I try to stare it into submission."

"Hilarious," she replied, voice dripping in sarcasm. It didn't suit her. Mona was used to being smiley and getting on with people. There was a slight wideness to her eyes that hinted that she found interrogating Pansy distressing. "And he glares at you because…?"

"It's not for me to say. Though others may put it down to my insatiable good looks. Others. Not me. Any who, I've got the joys of recessive genes in Swedish Short Snouts to get back to…" Pansy gabbled desperately, as she and her dearest caffeinated savior tried to make it to the door.

Mona stood tall and blocked her path. The unexpected movement almost made Pansy drop her coffee. She let out a very girlish, un-Slytherin shriek as the precious fluid almost spilt- a shriek which Pansy quickly covered with a challenging bellow.

"HOW DARE YOU!" she yelled, as Marcus popped his head helpfully round the corner.

"What's up?" piped Marcus, his bat-like ears questing for gossip. "Please tell me there is a showdown happening. I love me some showdowns."

"She _spilled_ my coffee-"

"I'm trying to find out what this-this- _Dragon Disliker_ did to Charlie-"

"MY COFFEE. (Also you had the whole of the English language to work with and you went with "Dragon Disliker?" Amateur.)"

"He's been acting weird recently- _and round here that IS an insult_!"

Marcus raised his hands placatingly. The 'Dragon Disliker' couldn't help but notice that his jaw line was so strong and square, it was almost painfully perfect. "Girls, girls. I think the only way to sort this out involves a sensible sit down. Followed by mud-wrestling."

"Ugh," Mona punched Marcus in the stomach with such force that would have crippled a lesser man. "Aren't you worried about Charlie and what this girl is doing to him? He's quiet and moping and… not Charlie!"

"If Mona isn't up for the mud-wrestling, I supposed that only leaves me and you, Marcus…" Pansy flirted, before catching an unfortunate glance of her reflection in the window. "Okay, pretend I said that when I wasn't looking like an essay-ridden wreak."

Marcus smiled his easy smile. There were tinges of Charlie in the way he grinned that made Pansy wonder who was mimicking who. "Just name the time and place, Damsel."

Mona let out another ineffable sigh of rage. "Great. Now if the two village bikes would stop flirting with each other, can we please get to the bottom of what is wrong with Charlie?"

Pansy shook out her dark hair, and adorned an expression of angelic wisdom. "Really Mona, I feel we shouldn't over-simplify people. There are probably many, _many_ things wrong with him-"

Mona, sick of the interruptions and impatient with the direction her interrogation was going, suddenly gained a mad glimmer in her grey eyes. Possessing feline reflexes and leonine strength, Mona ripped the coffee cup from Pansy's hand and tipped the contents to the ground.

Leaning close to Pansy's face, she whispered; "Damsel _isn't_ an ironic nickname."

"…." Pansy said. "…."

With what was either cowardice or an acute sense of self-preservation, Marcus made a flimsy excuse about needed to feed Wynne and have a disciplinary meeting with a dragon, and ran as fast as he could down the corridor.

The Slytherin gazed at the Coffee-Exterminator, her new Arch-nemesis (at least for today), and worked out whether it would be more satisfying to punch her on the nose or turn her into something nasty. Mona returned Pansy's unyielding look- which was impressive as it made a knife look cuddly in comparison.

"I think you should know," said Pansy, her voice laced carefully with calm. "That I'm not known for my patience, my ability to forgive, nor the tendency to lose battles. I pulled out a wand on the last two people who argued with me, and in both cases I was _trying_ to be diplomatic. You come to me with coffee-bothering plots and accusations when I'm working to a deadline, and therefore at my most volatile." She sighed, the knot of guilt weighing heavy. As much as she wanted to deny Mona's accusation and send the little madam flying; Mona was undeniably correct. Pansy had done something wrong.

She admitted to Charlie that she was best friends with a guy who was intimately entangled with the horrors his family had to go through. Charlie hated _Harry Potter_ merely because of the unpleasantness he brought, and at least Potter saved the wizarding world in some semblance of retribution. Pansy was probably a constant reminder of the awfulness he tried to leave behind. A perpetual shadow representing all the wrong done to Bill and Fred and Ginny and whoever else Charlie knew. There would be a long list of the dead. There always was.

"Oh for God's sake, Mona," Pansy said exasperatedly, changing tack. She couldn't deny she'd done something to Charlie, but perhaps he could try to fix it just a little. "Why don't you just ask him out?"

"What? I- no! I'm just worried about him! Concerned for his welfare!" Mona blushed and stammered, quickly looking about her to make sure no one had heard Pansy's outburst. "Don't change the subject!"

"If we go back to the previous subject, it would end up with me turning you into a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. And I don't even know what one of them looks like. Please don't deny that you've got hots for Goldilocks. It's obvious, and in my fragile, uncaffeinated state I really can't be doing with the arguing thing. I've got to save my intelligent thoughts for the Journal of Magizoology and remembering how to stay upright."

Mona looked caught in indecision, and completely derailed by Pansy's alarmingly amiable tone. Her nose, that looked like it really belonged on an adorable woodland creature and not a person, wrinkled with unhappiness and she exclaimed. "Is it really that obvious? _Does he know_?"

Pansy chuckled. "No, your Prince Charming is more likely to sense the subtle nuances of a dragon's emotion than he is to notice the flagrant overtness that you've got a whopping great crush on him."

Mona looked like she was about to crumble. "I've had this crush for _seven_ months. It never takes a guy seven months to ask me out. Never." Good for you, Pansy thought sardonically. Seven months was nothing in her Endless Saga of Unrequited Love. "And I have no idea if he even _likes_ me. He's nice to _everyone_."

"I find that disturbing too. Now, if you'd make me more coffee, I will tell you your new Plan of Attack. There will be a diagram, and seven easy steps that even an idiot like you can manage. I will even give you permission to use me as bitching fodder…"


	11. Chapter 11

Pansy poked the hissing sausages with the end of her wand and casually contemplated speeding up the whole cooking process with a well-aimed fireball. So she may end up with a meal consisting purely of carbon, but that would be a low price to pay to get out of the icy climate of the kitchen. Outside the wind bellowed, and she silently cursed the wranglers for abandoning her in the empty kitchen with _him_.

Caesar, Toothpick, Mona and she had come in cold and cheery, yelling for hot food and warm drinks. They had had a good day with the Longhorns, and D'Artagan had shown Pansy especial favour by biting everyone except her. Feeling rather proud that she had won the affections (or at least not won another enemy) in the teacup-sized dragon, she proclaimed that she'd cook lunch for everyone.

As soon as they'd entered the kitchen, Caesar and Toothpick upon seeing that it was solely inhabited by Charlie _I'll-make-you-so-guilty-you-vomit-oh-and-I'm-horrifically-poor-and-ginger_ Weasley made their excuses and abandoned her to his chilly reception.

Mona did not leave, though neither did she ease the palpable awkwardness in the air. Things between Pansy and her had thawed slightly, though Mona barely hid her eye rolls at 60% of the things she said and Pansy occasionally felt the childish need to pull her perfect hair. Mostly she managed to overcome this desire. Mostly.

Mona too was being pointedly silent towards Charlie. Though this had nothing to do with the fact she was a Slytherin whose best friends were involved in the murder and persecution of muggles, and everything to do with the fact Pansy had strictly instructed her to.

"So… I just don't talk to him?" the conversation had repeated for the forty-second time.

"Yep," muttered Pansy as she shoveled frozen dung from Holding Cave 3. She wondered whether a face full of manure would help the message sink in.

"I don't see how this will work. He doesn't strike me as a boy who likes to play games."

"True. You have to be patient, grasshopper." _Patience Pansy_, she reminded herself as well, _word this tactfully_. "And you're right. Charlie is not a gaming man. He's honest, and straightforward, and very, very dim. At the moment, you are a barrage of loveliness and insipient giggles. To make him sit up and take notice, you've got to be different. At least from a little while. Throw him a curve ball, have a little pout, be furiously silent at him like the wind!"

_Well done_, she congratulated herself as Mona nodded almost in comprehension, _you are the epitome of tact. Perhaps I'll become a diplomat? Or con people out of money using only my words and devastating good looks?_

"Also," Pansy added as an honest after thought. "It's quite nice to have a break from that shrill talking thing you do when he's around."

A piece of frozen dung hit her on the back of the head.

What she would give for a frozen dung fight now. Instead Mona cut vegetables next to her in inimitable silence, frowning slightly as if she were trying to calculate the square root of 9438503943.22. She could almost feel the weight of Charlie _not_ looking at her as he inhaled his food as fast as possible. The world felt strangely skewed when it was filled with his silence. Such a large presence turned into a vacuum.

He must not be very happy, a stray thought drifted into Pansy's mind. She almost laughed. Who here was truly happy?

There was a quiet tapping at the window, followed by the shush and cold blast of air as it was opened.

"Post," said Charlie gruffly. "For you."

She turned. There was no smile on his face, but there was something in his expression that made the shame in Pansy's stomach churn. Perhaps it was the fact his ocean-blue eyes were finally meeting her own, or the strange look of askance written across him. On the table a large Eagle Owl was finishing off his toad in the hole.

With an annoyed shrug he proffered the rolls of parchment toward her. She made sure her face was expressionless. She may feel culpable but she was never going to let him know it. Without movement or thanks, she accioed the letters from his grasp.

She elbowed Mona to take over the cooking as she perched herself on the counter to examine her hall. Three letters, pretty good. Sadly none from Luna, whose whimsical correspondence she had become rather used to. Her lyrical sentences were not only entertaining (usually inadvertently), but it was nice to know that someone else was panicking over essays and deadlines. Not that Luna ever seemed to panic, but Pansy assumed that "troubles with knitting patterns and formulaic ethnographies written by slugs" was akin to worry. It was also nice to hear from someone who was sincerely… nice. Whenever she complained to Draco about the course, he always informed her that she risked becoming an academic bore before chronicling his life as a gentleman of leisure (i.e. laziness).

She first opened the envelope of rich velum parchment that was adorned in faultless gothic hand. It was addressed in peacock-blue ink with the words "Pansy; ie Traitorous Hag-Wench of the Morn." She smiled. Her favorite morally ambiguous friend had received her little gift.

Draco's spidery calligraphy spelt out fond insults, and accusations of her 'meddling.' As expected, he did not seem to entirely appreciate her application of an internship to Minerva's Interesting Inventions and Cantakerous Clockwork Creations (referred to in polite circles just as The Emporium) on his behalf.

At the end of the note he had angrily written (you could tell he was angry by the extra swirls he added to his consonants in 'fuck you'):

_There are so many things wrong with this. Firstly, the fact you expect me to take up a TRADE. The Malfoys haven't been officially employed in over two centuries (yes, I know Malificar Malfory was Minister of Magic a mere six decades ago and Melliflori Malfoy set up that successful soap/narcotics business, but being a personae of power isn't really a job now is it? For Malfoys it's a way of life). Secondly, such an idiotic past time is likely to get in the way of the business of running my estate. I have lawyers to talk to, galleons to count and magical topiary to prune. Also, Mother could not be without my company, and she'd be worried that I'd pick something up from the common folk, like disease, foul-language, an accent or poverty. _

_Right, I've got to go survey my estate and persuade the new house elf to enter a game of jousting. And you imply my life isn't fulfilling._

_Hope a dragon doesn't eat you, because after this I'd rather like to give it a chance._

_Regards and Crucio to Your Nethers,_

_Draco_

_PS. Lastly, I don't see why you'd even bother doing this. The altitude has obviously driven you quite mad. What on earth do you think would possess me to do this degrading work?_

Muffling a giggle, she turned the parchment over and wrote a quick note:

"_Curiosity, my young rantipole, curiosity and the need for distraction. Also, like it or not you have a talent for fiddling with thingamajigs and magical whatchamacallits _[flattery and shame would be the best way to persuade him, she had decided. Also it would be healthy for him to cease his moping, get some sunlight and actually interact with people who weren't relations or servants]._ Being an inventor is really rather a gentleman's hobby (do note you're not actually going to be paid for this role. You are after all an amateur, whose only experience is tinkering with evil wardrobes/wormholes and de-cursing medieval heirlooms/muggle torture devices). Believe me, you'll enjoy it far more than moping around your little kingdom, harassing the help and chasing after walking hedges in the shape of giraffes (I do hope you were joking about the topiary, but from what I hear via the grapevine it sounds like a horrific possibility. Draco dear, you are far too young to be considered 'eccentric' and just the right age to be labeled 'pitiful.') It's healthy for one to have talents for which one excels. Harry Potter surpasses most at quidditch and world-saving _[a low blow, but necessary],_ Hagrid at spelling the three letter words on his shopping lists. What do you currently have? Even less. So get out the house and do something._

_Ditto (though it sounds a bit kinky),_

_Pans_

_PS. I understand that you'll be sulking for a long time after this letter, so I'll take the opportunity to thank myself now for such a considerate plan in entering you into the world of work. A feat leading you to a life of happiness, fulfillment, and inspiring you to deify me and begin 'The Cult of Pansy Parkinson: hero, leader, hand model.'"_

The second letter was from Scamander. Results for the literature review and pilot research study. Pansy, swiftly coming down from her saintly moment of pride, began to tremble. The research paper she had been reasonably happy with; it was clear, concise, the data made sense. But the review was fuelled on little but coffee, exhaustion and insanity. She was reasonably sure that what was written down on the parchment was not an analysis of dragon husbandry with hypotheses relating to strengthening Longhorn genes, but instead a chronicle of one woman's descent into madness.

The night before she owled the essay off, she had woken up just before dawn, absolutely frantic. She had dreamt that she had replaced the whole reference list with a slew of foul language and drawings of hippogriffs in bizarre domestic scenarios. So vivid was the dream and acute her sleep-deprivation, that she felt the need to re-read every word as the sun came up.

Flipping over the pages of purple marking, she reached the grade.

_Distinction_, it read in bold, bright letters next to a little complimentary paragraph. She quelled an excitably shriek that rose in her throat, yet she knew her pleasure shone through. In the corner of her eye, she saw Charlie angle his head toward her in curiosity.

Never had she felt so happy and reassured that she could do research. The pain and the panic were worth it, because apparently _she was a freaking GENIUS_. The feeling was almost as good as Fire Whisky kisses, being a dragon's favourite, and coming second to Hermione Granger in a Transfiguration exam.

The feeling lasted all of five seconds, as she turned to the research paper to find that it was very much, definitely not a Distinction. In fact it was about as far as you could get from a distinction without causing Pansy to throw herself at the mercy of the Ironbelly. In shouty, red letters the words "WRONG," "IRRELEVENT," and "Fine, but this doesn't exactly add anything new to the field…" were strewn across the pages.

Adieu, academic reassurance. Adieu, flighty feeling of self-worth. Adieu, Professor Scamander who has an awful lot of explaining to do…

The confusion was enough to keep her numb as she opened her last letter.

"What is that stench?" coughed Mona as the sausages began to take on a healthy burnt look.

Pansy sniffed the dusty-pink envelope. "Expensive, but vile rose perfume and the overwhelming scent of bourbon. Must be a letter from my Mother."

It was by far the worst letter she received that day.

* * *

Pansy picked a direction, and marched out across the stormy terrain. The wind helped whip the tears from her face, and the sound filled her ears so she couldn't hear her own pathetic sobs. A small sardonic part of her recalled that she had never cried quite so often as she had in the last few months. It was the problem with not sharing a dorm with Slytherins- people were more likely to comfort than ridicule you. Led to weakness, embarrassment, and ugly, gasping sobs.

The wind buffeted her with blunt elbows, and the clouds scowled until they were almost bruised purple. Wetness touched her face in icy spears.

"Wonderful. Pathetic _fucking_ fallacy!" she screamed at the rain. She screwed her eyes tight shut.

If this had been fiction- some one, anyone, even Charlie, would have read the letter left on the kitchen counter and run out to follow her into the raging weather. They would have wrapped her in a spare coat, and held her, and asked if she was okay. And because in this day-dream she was a normal person, she would have told them and they would have sympathized… and maybe, impossibly, solved it for her.

But instead the letter was crumpled in her hand, and would have been incomprehensible to anyone who read it anyway. She had left the hut with a casual mention that she was no longer hungry, grabbing nothing but her Slytherin scarf in a strange moment of solidarity, and a flask of Firewhisky that she had hidden in the bookcase.

They'd be no romantic figures cutting aesthetic shapes on the horizon for her. No heart to hearts, or warm embraces from boys in blue jumpers. Just her, and the burn in her legs from fighting the hills, the fire on her lips from the whisky, and the impossible loss that smothered her like a second skin.

She opened her eyes expecting to see unforgiving spears of water, but instead saw snow.

It fell in tempestuous tufts, veiling the ground. Utterly ignorant to her, and utterly perfect. She stood motionless, hoping madly that it would freeze her too. If it froze her heart and numbed her feelings, perhaps she would be able to perpetuate. Perhaps she could be normal, live a life, if only it wasn't for this guilt. For a second, the snow and daydream were a pleasant distraction.

She pulled her green hat further down over her ears and treacherous eyes, glaring at the indomitable mountains and swirling shapes in the air. Far away, a dragon's roar echoed through the mountains. She recognized it as the call of the black dragon from her first day here, the one they named Maleficent. She guessed it was two, maybe three mountains away. Whether it was numbness or adjustment, she felt no fear when she heard it's call again.

"Me too, Mal, me too." She whispered to the wind.

Pansy wet her lips with the Fire Whisky, and the sadness drowned her. At a slower pace she continued up the mountain path and dwelled on her dark thoughts.

Her Mother's words felt burnt onto her mind. 'Dear Pansy, I'll never forgive you for what you did to your brother. Because of you he rots in Azkaban. Neither he nor I especially feel like spending Christmas with the reason our family is torn asunder, so I've gained permission for myself to spend the holidays with him. I'm sure you'll sort something out. A bowl of arsenic perhaps. Toodles, Talitha xxx."

…Well, it didn't say that exactly. But it may as well have.

Pansy knew she was responsible, and though her Mother did not say it plainly in the letter, the subtext was obvious. The last remaining members of her family were divided because of her mere existence. No wonder they both hated her.

Pellinore Parkinson, Mother's favourite, School Rebel, Death Eater, was perhaps the kindest of the Parkinson family, and the least ambitious. He always used to joke that the Sorting Hat had spent a full hour deciding whether to place him in Slytherin or create a new house for slackers of his caliber. He had Edgar Parkinson's patience, Talitha's dark, delicate looks which translated so dashingly, and lacked Perseus' cool distain. He was Pansy's favourite, and the one whom she had hurt the most.

Most meeting the Parkinsons would assume that Perseus merely took after his father. He had the tall Parkinson frame, and the quiet reserve that Pansy, Pellinore and their Mother lacked. With them it was always witticisms, boisterous shouting, and loud debates over the dinner table. But Perseus was different. His silence was not shyness, it was rage. Unlike Pell, he was a true believer even before Voldemort's rise. He believed every word of that mad man's manifesto: death to the Mudbloods, Muggles and lower races. He felt sullied by the name Parkinson, known for their social climbing, new money and impure blood. For a while he had adopted their maternal name, Tremain, before Pansy and Pell had teased him mercilessly and he learnt of his Mother's debaucheries. His unpopularity and early death meant that few even remembered his existence, let alone questioned the circumstances surrounding his demise.

The family never truly knew either, but they had their well-guarded suspicions. The timing of his initial disappearance aligned with the rise of Tom Riddle. There was no clue left in his room, and he departed without a word. Months later his body was found in a forest just off Surrey. No Dark Mark showed on his skin, not that there needed to be.

After Pell joined the Death Eaters, Pansy brokered the question to him. Her query was nothing more than detached curiosity. There was no love lost between her and Perseus. Pellinore was the only brother she needed.

Usually Pellinore would not let her ask such questions, but he did this once. His hands shook as he smoked, and he let out a laugh that was more filled with hysteria than comedy.

"I found out on the first day. Crabbe took me aside and told me. I won't tell you of the gory details, sweet P, it turns my stomach even now. Our dear Perseus was one of the first who found the Dark Lord, alongside Crouch Junior and that pathetic creature they call Wormtail. Merlin, I shouldn't be repeating their names to you… Forget them. You're in enough danger as it is." She remembered the delicate bones in his wrists. How they held the cigarette and trembled, yet looked so elegant like the bones of a bird. A year before he had been a young rake, nothing but ribs and half-hearted rebellion. Too well-dressed to care about much. They had never kept secrets back then, but that year every word exchanged had felt like the most precious treasure and most fearful danger.

"They called that bastard a hero," his long eyelashes had fluttered with bewilderment. "Not that the circumstances surrounding his demise sounded particularly heroic. Too many exposed intestines for that nonsense. Though the fool had volunteered. Mad zealot… DTM, my dear, DTM."

Don't Tell Mother. It had been their constant refrain. Don't tell Mother I'm burning the frilly nighties she bought me. Don't Tell Mother about the Howler from Flitwick. Don't Tell Mother that I've stolen the Mongolian Moonshine, and I'll let you share it.

When Edgar Parkinson, their elderly, distant but loving Father, had passed away in Pansy's second year, it had been Pell who kept Pansy sane all those Christmases. It had been him, who being male and witty and beautiful would always be Talitha's favourite, that batted away Talitha's constant aggravations and insults directed at her. They would sneak Butterbeer and giggle about Pell's disastrous attempts to seduce the Head Boy. One year he enchanted all the Christmas decoration to pair up and waltz down the corridors. She had never laughed so hard as when the baubles challenged the tinsel to a dance off.

And now… now she wouldn't even have her Mother to exasperate her. When her Mother had mentioned getting clearance to visit Azkaban, Pansy had foolishly believed it was for them both. How idiotic of her to assume Talitha would have a selfless thought in her life, let alone over this. How idiotic of her to assume Pell would want to see her…

She had collected gifts for him. Elegant black jumpers, books by his favourite authors, merchandise from the Holyhead Harpies. His favourite cigarettes that smelt of candle smoke and cloves. Perhaps Talitha could be persuaded to pass them on.

And here she'd been worrying about some silly boy who didn't like her. The largest tragedies always come from within families. She should have remembered that.

In the distance, a gleam of orange caught her eye. Beneath her the bright white land led down to the lake where she had been uncouthly dropped on her first day. Beyond it's waters the mountains rose, indomitable and hidden by low cloud and mist. The whirl of snow blinded her and she could not make out the shape, though it moved fast and true round the mountain base. Without thinking she apparated closer, and closer again.

It was a train.

A train of burnt orange travelling on tracks that were not there a day ago. It was slowing down, she was sure of it.

With a pop she apparated for a third time and came to a train stop located almost in the middle of nowhere. As if in a dream, the train gave a tooting cry and entered the station in a jolly chug of steam and snow.

The door opened, and down stepped a twiggy man. He wore a lumpy purple scarf and an irritatingly academic expression. As he stepped aside, a girl with a dreamy expression drifted passed him. She wore a yellow summer dress, utterly oblivious to the weather though it fell in turbulent clusters around them. The girl gave a cry, though Pansy missed what she said, and ran toward Pansy embracing her like an old friend.

In Luna's hug, Pansy thawed and melted like ice and tears.


	12. Chapter 12

*Blinks awkwardly, well aware that it's been a long time since updating...*

...Er, surprise?

Currently on a 5 week break, so the next installment should not be too far away! (At least there is now AVP:SY to distract from my slow typing.)

Hope you're all well, and are fans of Pansy/Luna BFFs for life- I mean, what?

* * *

Pansy told Luna almost everything. The ruined Christmas, the terrible loss she felt for her brother Pellinore, the cruelty of Talitha. Professor Scamander walked a polite distance ahead in the snow, carefully juggling a number of strange looking contraptions in his thin arms. Luna listened quietly as Pansy gushed, her words escaping into the relenting snow faster than her mind had time to sort them.

"And then in the letter- the one she- well, she had the nerve- I mean she hates me- Pellinore _should_ hate me, but Mama beat everyone to the punch with that one. But this… Taking Christmas, taking Pell! I just… I miss him so much."

"Do you have the letter on you?" asked Luna. "It's just, and I don't mean to be rude, but you're not making any sense."

If Luna Lovegood failed to understand her, then all was lost. This more than anything -more than the desire for comfort and sense- persuaded her hand to pass the letter to her unexpected friend.

For a few moments they walked wordlessly through the snow. Distantly, Pansy wondered how Scamander was dealing with his inconvenient crush on Luna. Then she recalled the damning grade on her essay, and decided that glaring murderously at his wobbling frame was a much more worthwhile thing to be doing.

"Oh," replied Luna concomitantly. "She's rather blunt, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is a c***."

"That's not what I said-"

"I know."

Luna folded the parchment carefully and handed it back to her. "There could be a reason for all this. Perhaps she couldn't get clearance for two people to visit, and just didn't know how to word it nicely? Sometimes people have trouble expressing things. I'm sure you'll spend Christmas Eve and Boxing Day with her. Really they're no different to Christmas. Sometimes my father and I have a whole week of Christmases just to ensure we do it right."

Pansy's smile cut her face. The naivety with which Luna had spoken almost made those words sound like a possibility.

"Talitha doesn't work like that. None of us do. She knows exactly what the subtext of that letter was: _We don't want you_. For Parkinson's there is no 'subtle' when it comes to making your point. Also, Malfo- I have friends whose families have managed to get group visitations." _Not that all of them will make use of them_, she thought bitterly.

"You can always spend Christmas with me," Luna said shyly. "It tends to only be my Father and I, but sometimes we visit some of the neighboring wizard families. It's usually great fun, especially now their kids no longer break my Christmas toys and try to use me as a sacrificial offering to Santa."

"Luna, that's really lovely," _And exceedingly tragic_. "But I think I should just spend it at home. It's safer that way." Much less like charity. It's much better to be alone, disgraced and unhappy, than let others know you are alone, disgraced and unhappy. Family motto #486. Why let embarrassment enter the equation as well? "And my usual holiday tradition is to drink too much and vomit on the Christmas decorations. You're rising to the ranks of tolerated colleague, so it might be mildly unacceptable to do such a thing."

"_Friend_, Pansy. I'm your friend."

"Same thing? Wait- what are you doing? Why are you strangling my body with your arms?"

Luna laughed, and released her from the hug. "You are funny."

She smiled. "Compliments and affection! By Merlin, you've deduced my weaknesses quickly. You're probably toeing the line between potential archrival and lukewarm comrade."

"Your weaknesses weren't that difficult to work out. You sent me a whole basket of Bulgarian meat just because I complimented the handwriting in one of your owls."

"False!" exclaimed Pansy, her wide mouth red and aghast. "It was a bribe! I don't even like Bulgarian meat! I just wanted to extract all your essay ideas! It was a cunning plot!"

"…You sent me a bribe, _after_ the essay was handed in?" probed Luna. If Pansy didn't know better, she would have said the dreamy look in Luna's eye had become a touch sly.

"Quiet you. Or I'll feed you to a mountain goat."

The next few weeks were filled with pleasant distraction. Pansy selfishly hogged Luna to herself, afraid that she'd lose her one ally in this camp. Not that the wranglers were behaving any differently toward her (neither was Charlie- his austere civility remained as immovable as ever), but she was terrified that Charlie would list all the endless reasons she should be shunned. She was fond of the wranglers, but was grudgingly aware that their loyalty was not to her. These weren't her Slytherins whose friendship had been cemented with blood, desire and desperation. These were strangers, and the worth of their friendship depended on as little as the hilarity of a joke or a cross word from a wronged Weasley.

However her unhappiness and worry was somewhat saved by the arrival of snow, and the breeze of cool, relaxing madness in the form of Luna Lovegood. Snow always had this effect on Pansy, like icy catnip. Whether it was the picturesque beauty of everything silent and perfect, or the way the winter landscape complimented her harsh looks making her more ice queen than pug-nosed monstrosity (or merely because it meant there was always a nearby chilly weapon) she flourished in this weather. While the other wranglers grumbled about the cold as they tramped their way up slippery paths, Luna and she would go on vast hikes up mountain trails and have wandering conversations about Snidgets (real) and Tumblewumps (probably not real) and the wonders of Narwhals (_definitely_ not real).

The Ravernclaw (having found that her allergy to Winged Horses meant that she broke out in fuzzy pink rashes, in addition to her throat closing up and earlobes swelling to the size of quaffles) had decided to devote her year to finding the Crumple Horned Snorkack. Sadly she'd had no luck in the south of France, nor on any of the Grecian Islands. The search in Quebec, Atlantis, and Estonia had been equally unfruitful.

"But we have great hopes about Romania!" announced Luna, managing to hide any surprise at Pansy's warm welcome. "From my calculations, and study of anecdotal sightings, this would be the perfect environment for them."

"Well, I'm sure that a mountainous, dragon-filled terrain would be the most likely spot to find them… whatever they are," agreed Pansy amiably. "And, why are you here, Professor?"

"Um, I wanted to check that your placement was going as planned, and of course, sort out your next situation- and Luna- well, her work with the Crumple Horned Snorkack, I believe, I going to be very, er…" stumbled Professor Scamander, his ears burning scarlet as he tripped over his feet. "Fertile. No, I mean, prosperous. "

"It sounds like you have a lot of faith in her," replied Pansy smugly. "What evidence have you found of this questing beast?"

"Snot!" announced Luna. "Invisible phlegm from this creature was spotted in Romania in the eighteenth century. Apparently a priest who had been surviving on nothing but a diet of berries and tree bark, wrote in his autobiography that he was having immense trouble with vast quantities of 'translucent sludge.' Apparently it was plaguing a town very close by. Daddy agrees with me that it could be nothing other than the elusive Crumple itself!"

"Obviously," agreed Pansy, a cruel part of her feeling much more secure about the wayward direction of her own research.

"But Pansy, how have you found things here? You're expectations were so low about this placement that it can't have been anything but wonderful," Luna trilled happily as Pansy showed the pair into the warmth of the library. They had decided to commandeer this little-used room for their seminars.

Pansy's smile froze slightly. Luna was, horrendously, correct. Apparently Draco was wrong- death and dragons were Pansy's style. As were the crude, jesting wranglers and clear, high skies of Romania. Ever since the atmosphere had cooled between Charlie and her had she realized how happy she had been beforehand. The research was interesting, the company good, and she could not remember being quite so content for so long a period.

Beyond the guilt over Charlie, and the fear that he would poison how the others thought of her, there was the greater affliction of Talitha stealing her one chance to visit Pellinore. But there was little to do about that except plot and send subtle hints for aid to her fellow Slytherins. Instead, she distracted herself with her new life here. A life filled with dragons, jokes, academic debate, unexpected friends… and unfortunate menial labour.

* * *

The mismatched pair spent most of their time seeking the best places for Luna to set up her environmentally-friendly traps. In fact, they were so environmentally-friendly that Pansy entirely doubted that they would work. Created out of a chimeric mix of orange wool and twigs, Luna claimed they would be the most inviting and harmless snare for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. The wranglers were bemused by these strange apparatuses, and even more so by Luna's dreamy ways and outlandish behaviour. Once, the conversation almost veered too close to mocking their new guest and Pansy was forced to levitate Baldrick by his ankles until he realized that pointing out that Luna's wasn't quite right in the head was unacceptable behaviour. Not that Pansy disagreed with this notion, but Luna was _Her Friend_, and therefore was to enjoy a certain level of eccentricity free from reproach. (Unless it was Pansy doing the criticizing, in which case it was fine.)

Such moments of critique were frequent during their tutor periods. On good days these times were enjoyably filled discussing Fantastic Beasts, the newest theories, and wildest debates. More often, it involved listening to Scamander trill boringly about bug-life and the correct way to cite papers and how "Statistics really is fascinating!" All the while the bashful professor tried to limit the number of times he gazed at Luna to five times a minute.

When discussions turned to their M.A.G.E projects, things tended to get heated and Scamander had some trouble with the alternating strangeness of his students. Pansy would often get over excited and overly involved in the debates, often siding with the scientist who had the most creative insults for his academic rivals. Scamander would do his best to staunch his confusion in the face of Luna's illogical notions of mythical beasts being a reality and Pansy's frequent sulking. Luna was perhaps the most troubling in these sessions, and would poke polite but brilliantly sharp holes in both Scamander's and Pansy's ideas that made them both doubt the nature of reality.

This was especially bruising one afternoon when Luna failed to listen to reason regarding the well-known fact that dragons do not breathe _metaphorical_ fire. Even Scamander, enamoured as he was, found this diversion from reality distracting and tried his best not to pull his hair out as he pointed that there were a lot of wranglers with very real burns. Pansy had given up by this point and was distantly wishing the fresh burn on her forearm _was_ metaphorical, when Luna perked up and exclaimed.

"Well, it may be the case that not all their fire is metaphorical-"

"What do you even mean by metaphorical? Not physical? Does it exist only in thought or verse?" Scamander sounded as if he was about to babble himself into an asylum. Pansy wished she had popcorn.

Luna let out a sigh- one that almost sounded annoyed. "You may be a renowned academic but you do not know everything, Professor. The world is full of more mysteries than you can ever conceive. And I hardly think someone who misspells _Xenotopius Corragulatorious _in published articles should inherently claim the last word on everything. It's frankly embarrassing for a man of your standing."

There was an ominous silence in the study room. A chill draft hissed through a cracked windowpane, as if the elements themselves had let out a gasp. Distantly, Pansy wondered if she had become a bad influence on Luna, just as Mona had warned her the day previously. A claim that she had boldly refuted. All she'd done in the two weeks of Luna's visit was persuade her to try some Firewhisky, taught her how to play (and cheat) at Poker, rambled about some of the more _ahem_ refined points of male anatomy (and how Pansy had come to find out herself), and…. And maybe filled her little, clever head with some rather revolutionary thoughts.

_Oh shit_, thought Pansy leaning back on her chair. _I've corrupted the incorruptible. _

Scamander looked affronted. His quick blue eyes (pale, wise and grey- quite different to Charlie's, whose eyes were so blue they seemed to burn reminding you of summer days and cobalt seas…. _Merlin, where did that comparison come from?_) briefly became naked as he removed his silver spectacles to clean them, composing himself as he did so.

"Quite right, Miss Lovegood." And he burst into laughter. "But I am a man of science, and though my spelling is at fault, I cannot lend weight to such unsubstantiated claims. Your thoughts, Pansy?"

"I think Luna is delightfully mental. But if she argues for metaphorical fire, she's probably right somewhere."

Their class concluded, and Scamander ran off to discuss Health & Safety with Wynne. Luna began to collect her notes. She seemed to concentrate on her wandering hum more than she usually did.

"Luna…" Pansy began, mischief tickling at her voice. "I've never seen you annoyed with anyone before."

"Hmm? No? Well… he was being patronizing."

"You were being ridiculous."

Her pallid eyes widened, hurt.

"You are one of the cleverest people I know. You must see that some of your theories are… somewhat out there?"

"If you don't seek, you won't find. If you don't question, you won't learn."

"That's a quote from Scamander Junior's book."

"Is it?" A ghost of a flush lightened her cheeks.

"Yes," Pansy probed. Luna didn't get ruffled. This was new, and interesting. If this had been Daphne, or Millicent, or even Malfoy, Pansy would be teasing incessantly about crushing on their Professor.

Casting her black eyes to the snow-white world outside, she caught herself from speaking further. A red head appeared at the doorway. He was smiling, jovial, saying some joke to Marcus behind him. He had yet to notice Pansy in the room.

"The Cannons may actually win a match this season- oh, hey Luna, do you mind if we steal the room?" Charlie smiled easily, but his lip caught when he saw Pansy.

"We were just leaving." Pansy shouldered pass them, hearing a distant goad or joke from Marcus. She did not care enough to respond.

Her pale friend followed her out the door, her face the typical mask of wistful contentment. Two male laughs echoed down the hallway, their humor boisterous and isolating.

Luna had had a hard life of Hogwarts, even before the war. Friendless, full of harsh jokes and unshared pastimes. It would be so much easier to handle the jibes and the loneliness if you were too stupid to notice, wouldn't it? To ignore the ridicule and cruelty if you were more caught up in a dream world or fabricated stories?

Yet she wasn't stupid. Luna had a sharp mind, as well as a compassionate one. Pansy gazed at her pensive face, lost in thought. It was a kind of armour just like Pansy's fury, probably equally ineffective to other people's words and looks.

Teasing about Scamander… It would cripple any feeling Luna had for him before it ever grew, and would probably hurt her more than a few laughs were worth. Scamander was growing on Pansy. His tweedy nature was grating, but it was becoming more and more obvious how young he truly was- merely a breath older than them. He seemed to enjoy humoring their wild debates, and occasionally enthralled them with tales of his travels.

"Why don't I help you set up some Snorkack snares this afternoon?" she offered. Luna smiled with relief and surprise.

* * *

_People aren't accepting of things they don't know, so why would I give them a chance to despise me?_ Pansy's words echoed around his skull.

_How can you stand there, and tell me none of these factors would influence the way you thought about me, when they're the most important factors of all?_

_Either you're a liar or so secure in your pureblood and Gryffindor background that you don't see the truth._

Charlie's jaw clenched tight. The porch skirting round the hut usually held all of the wranglers at this time in the evening. As the moon rose they would joke and bicker over cards and lashings of Firewhisky. Pansy had melded into the group surprisingly easily for one so… different. The magizoologists were used to rough work, turning in early and waking with the dawn. She pestered them into staying up late, drinking too much and revealing stories about themselves, all the while keeping her own tales close to her chest. There was always an air of collectedness about her; the clean lines on her clothes matching the sharp features of her face. It was at odds with the muddy array of wranglers practically adorned in their waterproofs and well-worn gear.

Yet it was a self-conscious collectedness. Any one who had seen Pansy throw a tantrum, toss her head back with loud laughter until her face crinkled with delight, or spontaneously reach out to comfort someone would see this cold, immaculate air dissolve unreservedly. As much as she wanted to be aloof, there was part of Pansy that could not help but to throw her heart at you.

She didn't seem to have anything against Muggles or Muggle-born; Toothpick and she were as thick as thieves. Nor was there a Dark Mark on the smooth sword of skin on her arm. Yes, she did mock Charlie for being poor… but he wasn't. When he was younger, his parents had been comfortably middle-class, it was only later with the advent of numerous children did their purse strings begin to pull tight. Now, he had a comfortable wage- potentially the lowest of all the Weasleys, but more than enough for he and his limited interests. Also, before the discovery of the Slytherin secret, the joke had seemed characteristic of their friendship. The fact he became comfortable teasing her with "House Elf Brat," and she with her numerous retaliations would joke that he was ginger, typhoid-stricken and lived in a comfortable hole in the wall, made it seem like they were friends. Only good friends could tease each other like that, _because it meant nothing_. Back then he laughed it off, only now in the light of her revelation did it gain a tone of insidious animosity.

He had meant it when he promised nothing she could say would change how he thought of her. At least he hoped he meant it. If only he could translate his thoughts into actions. If only he could get the image of Fred being felled out of his mind so he could think clearly…

Charlie knew that she was probably sitting in the Sanctuary's library right now, pouring away over an essay. What he had previously perceived as intelligence and determination, was now coloured green with ambition and stubbornness.

"Hello!" called a clear voice. From the direction of the Fort, Mona strode towards him holding two cups. Despite the beckoning darkness, her smile was bright. For once, Charlie did not feel up for company. "I saw you sitting out here and thought you needed some tea. Why are you sitting out here all alone, anyway? It's a bit cold."

Charlie's skin seemed immune to the autumnal air, his dark thoughts kept his blood hot and agitated.

"Just wondering where everyone was," he lied, taking the tea as Mona sat down beside him. The view before them was breath-taking; the clean air cutting across the sweeping mountains as the sun dipped it's head.

"Think they've all taken the chance to turn in early while Pansy's occupied with the paper. Her constant late-night card games are getting a little relentless, and annoying. A bit like her really."

Charlie frowned and surveyed the chipped cup in his hand. Mona leant forward and touched him gently on the arm- she was always kind.

"Has something happened? You and she seem to be going to lengths to avoid being in the same room. Not that I blame you. Unlike the others, I don't exactly adore the new snob in our midst. She's kind of a bitch."

He turned to her, blue eyes contemplative. "Do you think that?"

Mona held his look for a moment, but found the steel in his gaze quelling. It was not that his gaze held any cruelty, but it lacked the kindness that all of his looks and actions were soften with. Instead, his serious expression was merely one of frankness. He sincerely wanted to know her opinion. Mona shifted uncomfortably.

"No… I did. But not any more. She's definitely not my favourite person ever. She's not consistently nice, funny or generous, but she isn't as bad as I thought. I gave her a bit of a hard time a few weeks ago," Mona laughed, her blond curls shaking in the breeze. "And the cow turns round and does me a giant favour. God, I hate being indebted to someone I dislike. What's your problem with her?"

The silence endured uncomfortably. "…I don't really have a problem with her. At least I don't want to have one. It's to do with the silly house system my school had- and it doesn't really bother me… the thing is… it just means that some of her friends, or people she was tied to, were involved in the Second Wizarding War. On the other side."

"Oh," said Mona, setting down her cup. She was one of the ones who had agreed to join Charlie in the Battle of Hogwarts. Many of their fellow wranglers had- they loved Charlie, and sincerely worried what such a dictator would mean internationally. She understood a little of the loss he felt. Seeing the carcasses of children, dead at their own school, was an experience she failed to scour from her mind.

"Was she… a Death Eater? A supporter of Thomas Riddle?"

Mona heard Charlie release a long, wavering breath. "I don't know- I mean, I don't think so. She would be in prison otherwise."

"And your only evidence is that she was in a certain house at school? What was it? Does Hogwarts divide it's students up between The Psychopaths, The Idiots, The Swots and The Incredulous?" Mona said, her voice reaching a high pitch. She had long known Hogwarts had some strange ideas, but this was ridiculous.

"You joke…" muttered Charlie darkly. "Gryffindors are the brave and the reckless. Hufflepuffs are the loyal and kind. Ravenclaws are the one offs and nerds. And then there's Slytherin; famed for ambition, loyalty to their own, and being pureblood."

"That's rather reductive," replied Mona, her eyes narrowing. "People are more complicated than that- and Slytherin can't possibly be completely pureblood. You know your history as well as I do- pureblood was just a term engineered during the formation of International Magical Secrecy. By that point every one had so many muggle marriages that the term pureblood was preposterous."

"I know," though really Charlie's grasp of history was a little tenuous. All he truly knew about the purebloods was their ever-reducing circle of possible marriages, their strange pride in their inbreeding, and the fact the Weasleys were listed among them. Weasley was an old-name, historically quite liberal in it's stance toward muggles. Yet Pansy's words about him being _privileged_ continually reverberated through his skull. It seemed ridiculous that a family derided for their poverty would have privilege- though in this, he supposed, they were rather blessed. He had nothing against muggles, nor muggle-born. All the trouble he had with purebloods was because he stood for muggle rights openly. All the insults, violence, and entanglement in the war were because he chose to be a target. Muggle-born didn't choose, it was imposed on them. And even his family were uncomfortable with some topics… Their relation, the accountant- rumoured a sqib, was an individual rarely discussed, let alone someone they ever had any contact with.

By Merlin, lectures on equality by a Slytherin- what next? A seminar on anger management by Harry Potter?

"But my problem with her- _with it_- not that I have a problem-" stuttered Charlie, unsure where his thoughts were going. He was unsure of his agitation, it's source, where it was leading. He felt like for the past few days his life had been thrown off it's comfortable tracks and his mind was wheeling uncontrolled and unchecked in a dangerous direction.

"I think you do," muttered Mona, her expression tightening at the eyes. He had never seen Mona look like this, at least not toward him. It was as if she were completely reconsidering him. "You just don't have the courage to admit what it is."

Charlie blew an angry puff of air into the night sky. He felt embarrassed and angry. Why on earth was Mona being like this? It was hard enough Pansy changing- let alone Mona having a complete personality transplant.

"You won't understand. I don't even know how to explain it. Up until now, I thought Pansy was amazing. She was funny, and quick-witted, and bold. Tough as old boots. Different to anyone I've ever met- and now? Now I feel like I've been completely deceived."

Mona looked at him incredulously. "She's still the same obscene, narcissistic snob that she was when she first stepped off that blasted train. And in no way has she tried to hide it. By Merlin, Charlie, what an idiot you are sometimes. You've even got me defending her." She buried her head in her hands, and looked like she vastly regretted sitting down.

"It sounds to me," came a voice that sounded only half-conscious. "Like you've been rather unfair to Pansy."

The frustrated wranglers turned to what looked like a turquoise woolen rabbit with tufts of milk-white hair escaping. Luna drifted up the porch steps and sat cross-legged before them.

"Do forgive me for interrupting," she continued. "But I was wondering what had been the matter with Pansy- I was pretty sure it was you, Charlie, but I didn't really want to make any accusations."

"Me?"

"Yes. Sorry to bear are bad news," hummed Luna, opening a thick-spined book on her knees and making flowery notes in the margins. "She's spent the last couple of days gossiping to me about everyone here. Telling me about Kerov's shadowy past, Toothpick's secret talent of cracking three eggs at a time, and the dreamy way Marcus' hair glows gold in the sun. But about you, she's perfectly polite. Rather unnatural really."

Charlie blinked, trying to collect his thoughts.

"I don't think Charlie's been cruel to her. If anything it would be the opposite. I mean, Charlie's lovely. And she… isn't. Usually." Mona said, not sounding entirely convinced.

"You idealized her," continued Luna, her hand drifting to a gold charm on her necklace. It's large circumference glinted in the lamplight, like the golden eye of a galleon. For a second she looked terribly unhappy. "There's no greater harm you can do to some one than think they are more or less than human. What else can they do but disappoint you?"

Before Charlie could answer, a piercing warmth spread from the centre of his chest. His hand sought the silver chain at his neck and pulled the black dragon tooth out from beneath his shirt. The air around the deadly point shifted and blurred.

"Intruders," muttered Charlie. He leapt up, reaching for one of the brooms leaning on the edge of the porch. His stocky shape went from one of bow-legged brutality, to an elegant arrow disappearing wordlessly into the night sky.

"Muggles?" asked Luna, her voice calm but gaze watchful.

"Expecto Patronum," cast Mona, a lynx leaping out from the end of her wand. "Tell Wynne and the others," she instructed the ghostly shape, and it too bounded off into the darkness. "Can't be muggles, our distraction spells would make them so dizzy they'd pass out before they got with twenty miles of the place. But if it's wizards, then where's the…?"

The wrangler stood poised on the deck. Her muscles pulled taunt against this invisible attack. The air remained silent and immovable before them-

Until the door cracked open and a she-demon wailed, "This effing tooth is burning my skin off! What on earth is happening?"

Pansy's indignant face hardened further when she saw Mona's expression. "Really, what's happening?"

"Intruders- they have magic but our defense doesn't seem to be in the sky. It should be working," Mona growled, confused, eyes continually scanning the violet sky. "Charlie's already flown off, and I need to go meet the others. You two stay here."

"We could help," offered Luna.

"No, Luna, let the professionals do their job," retorted Pansy. But there was a catch in her throat. Her wranglers against an unknowable foe? People here to steal her dragons? _Her_ M.A.G.E project? She didn't like it. Yet there was little she could do to help. She was never trained for this kind of thing. There was no three-headed dog or Triwizard Tournament to prepare her, just spotty Defense Against the Dark Arts training and a year pretending to learn unforgiveable curses. Her perfected jelly-legs jinx was unlikely to be of use against poachers.

"Actually Luna, that would be great. If you apparate to Wynne's office, they'll have work for you to do. See ya, Pans."

The two popped out of existence leaving her alone, bristling against the darkness. There was no plea for help, no guilt-trip against her cowardliness. They were too busy for that. They had a Sanctuary to protect. They knew what to do and what was needed of them.

_You idiot_, thought Pansy and prepared to apparate to Wynne's office too. The ire that someone was on _her_ land, endangering _her_ people and _her_ dragons was just enough to rival her desire for self-preservation.

But her eyes landed on an object cast forgetfully next to two abandoned cups of tea. Her hand shook a little as she picked it up.

Twelve inches, ash, unicorn core, as unbending as her own. _Charlie's wand_. There was a slight dip near the wand's base, just above a knot in the wood, where his calloused thumb had worn it away.

_But I'm not the only idiot here_. Her stomach felt like it was falling from up high. She tried to breathe but it was as if there were stones in her lungs. Blood pumped in her ears, as she scrunched her eyes and thought furiously. _He flew off, so he went to a dragon pen you can't apparate to._

_Oh the idiot, idiot, idiot._

_Think Pansy. Think_.

Her eyes flew open. The Longhorns.

Without another worry or warning, she grabbed the last broom and chased the man who hated her into the dark and dangerous night.


	13. Chapter 13

_ I realised I have forgotten to thank a whole host of people for their lovely comments on the last few chapters:_ **NewSlove**, **JessebelleSilver**, **Rurippe**, & **Kokotheevilone **_(a wise summation- but it's ok, he's working on it). Hearing your views is always exciting- and serves as an especially good distraction from revision. Ugh. _

_ Also, I may start posting an Alice in Wonderland AU soon, if anyone is interested. Though of course my attentions will remain with Pansy, Charlie and their dragons, until one or both of them is a) happy, or b) dead. I haven't quite decided yet._

* * *

The moon rose high and bright, casting an almost violet brilliance to the snow below her. It would have been beautiful, if it hadn't been so fucking cold and she so fuelled by anger and fear that her thoughts seemed to scatter before her. The old Cleansweep was slow, and buckled every time the wind blasted. Yet still she leaned on, pushing it further and faster, afraid that her eyes would miss the red gleam of his hair or the twisting, treacherous air would drown his shouts.

His forgotten wand was clenched tight in her fist. It felt foreign. The wood was cool, almost distainful. Her faithful eleven-inch cedar with dragon-heart string always spread warmth through her fingertips. Despite this, she trusted it. Edgar Parkinson had told her horror story after horror story of wizards attempting to use the wands of others and having disastrous effects; spells back-blasting, self-combusting, or just failing to work. He may have told her this to stop her stealing her brothers' wands, but the message had stuck rather well. Charlie's wand wouldn't pull that kind of crap, she was sure, but Pansy wasn't going to test it either way.

_That blasted Weasley, with his blasted short-sightedness and idiot hair and damned ideals_.

Pansy let her anger rise and rise within her. It masked her worry and fear. She needed to shout down all the uncertainties and inner pleas to run back and hide. She was reasonably certain she'd be useless in a fight. All she was good for was lies and deception. If she was going to hit some one with a successful curse or left hook, it would probably only be if she could surprise them with it. All her talk and threats were just words and wasted air. The impression that she was a powerful adversary was an act maintained by strutting, shouting orders and making sure she had a following of friends and minions to back her up. The threat of her was enough to avoid any actual confrontation. She could spring a good curse and hex with the best of them, but face to face with nowhere to run? She had no idea.

Pansy did not stick around long enough to find out at the Battle of Hogwarts. She would have, had she known that so many of her friends had stayed; Daphne Greengrass, Miles Bletchley, Hestia and Flora… Perhaps if she'd stayed they would be here now instead of her. Perhaps all that time protecting them throughout that year; training everyone to fake curses, hiding from Fenrir's "visits," bribing and blackmailing the Carrows, falsifying papers for all those whose blood wasn't as pure as it should have been… perhaps that would have meant something.

Draco, Theo, Blaise, Goyle, herself… out of all the Slytherins, they least deserved to survive. Assassins, sons of murderers, bullies, cowards and general dirty workers. Why did Daphne, who liked to read weepy romance novels and sing off key, have to die? Miles was a menace but he giggled like a child if anyone said a dirty word, and he could have been a professional Keeper had Fenrir not… not… The twins were about as unpleasant a pair as you could find, but they were prodigies in Arithmancy, and turned against their family –_the Carrows themselves_- to fight for bloody Potter and his gang. Dead, the both of them.

Pansy swore to herself, swore on every fiber of her incensed being, that she was going to save Charlie from whatever jape he'd inevitably got himself in and tell him of their sacrifice. She was a coward, ambitious, and ingratiated with liars and murderers, but she was going to show him that not all of her people are like that. Some of them were strong-willed and brave. Some of them turned on their own blood to fight for a boy who never even knew their name.

The last of her fears had burned up on the coals of her anger, and yet as suddenly as the rage had risen- it sank. An unnatural cold swept through her. Even on that winter night, high in the icy air, a spear of hoarfrost entered her. Beneath her woolen jumpers and thick coat, her very bones felt like they were imbued with a despair so hard and so heavy that she was drowning.

Charlie's disgusted face swam before her, full of righteous hate and overwhelming her with guilt.

Draco wasting away in his mansion. _I can't be with you. I won't be with you._

Millicent abandoning her for bigger and better things.

Talitha's coldness. Pellinore's absence.

_Pellinore._

Death after death, funeral after funeral.

She just wasn't good enough, she'd never be good enough. Not poised enough for the Malfoys. Not pretty enough for her Mother. Not virtuous enough for Charlie.

The creeping sadness was familiar. It echoed back to the time, six years ago on the Hogwarts express, when the Dementors had drifted onto the train bringing a fog of gloom so thick that Pansy believed she would never recover.

With dread, she looked down.

There, on the untouched snow, was an army of them. Dementors drifting like silent death up the mountain, cloaks curiously still in the wind. A sickening feeling rose up like bile. Dementors could sense happiness and warmth a mile off, and the only figure out here at this time would be…

Pansy redirected the broom up the mountain, racing the demonic figures below. The gates of the Longhorn pen crowned with their ominous words loomed ahead.

She almost didn't see him.

She almost didn't notice the slight undulation of darkness at the foot of the gate. The darkness that wrinkled like a cloak in the breeze.

"_Inferno_," yelled Pansy, descending like a bat out of hell. (In other words; irate, confused and terrifying for a thing so small).

A tongue of flame disappeared into the Dementor, leaving no sign of harm or spoil. Yet it was distraction enough- the thing rose from where it had been crouched over it's victim, and turned to face Pansy.

For a wonderful moment, she did not think it too late.

Charlie's body was collapsed upon the floor, his upturned face pale and broken in the moonlight. There was no sign of life on his face; only the glint of ice where the Dementor's breathe had frozen his tears.

The deadened face stared blankly into the distance. Pansy was sure that no soul lived behind the cold, blue gaze.

* * *

He moved, reluctantly.

The coldness filled Charlie's bones with lead. It seeped into him, unlocking every bad memory, every bad thought in one huge, unending rush. Bill, scarred and scared. Ginny admitting her fears about Harry, and he unable to comfort her. His parents risking life and limb for some ragged orphan on their doorstep.

His loneliness.

Fred. _Fred_.

The lack of laughter in the house.

George's isolation.

The bodies of friends, lining door ways and old familiar corridors. Blood and guts staining the Charms room where he had spent so many hours snoring through classes. Fires burning on the Quidditch pitch where he had caught his first snitch.

Men in masks murdering children.

Fred.

Friends becoming killers.

Pansy's absence. Her accusing stares. Her lips absent of laughter. Her.

Fred.

His lips were so ready to accept the kiss.

* * *

But she was there. She was stopping it. Her face cut a sharp shape in the light, hair windswept and dismantled, disappearing behind the Dementor. Her lips moved slowly, snarling, angry- as always. It was like hearing her from under water. Behind him were growls. The longhorns, small and young as they were, prowled the edge of their enclosure. Tongues of flame licked their mouths. They were unafraid, and unaffected by the Dementor. All they desired was to protect their territory. Sound returned to Charlie as the old sentinel retreated.

It was withdrawing toward Pansy. Her face flashed orange, teeth bared, as fireball after fireball left her wand. Still the Dementor made it's slow, inexorable path toward her.

"GET UP, WEASLEY. _Inferno. Sectum Sempra. Crucio._ CRUCIO!" Still the Dementor approached, unharmed and hungry.

"Avada Kadavra. _Oh fucks sake, Locomotor wibbly!_"

A pain spread from his forehead. It felt dulled by the cold and his distance. He looked to see where the sting had come from. A stick was in front of him. His stick. His _wand_.

"Damn you, damn you both. _Fumunculus_. Oh… Oh Merlin. _Expecto Patronum_!"

Nothing happened.

She reversed down the hill. Charlie saw her turn her back to check behind her. Her face looked ill when it returned to gaze at him.

Pansy's jaw, which jutted out determined and impetuous against the world- that chin, his _favorite_ chin- wobbled. Her heavy brow sunk into her dark eyes. Those eyes which shone like tortoise shell in the sunlight.

"Happy thoughts," his voice croaked as if coming from very far off. He eased himself from the floor. Everything felt numb. "You need a happy thought for that spell to work."

A flicker of hope interrupted the fear on her face. "Got it. Let's Peter Pan this bastard."

He thought of his first encounter with a dragon. His first flight on a broom. "Expecto Patronum."

Nothing.

She thought of stroking a unicorn's nose. Pellinore's wit. Getting into Hogwarts. "Expecto Patronum."

Nothing.

Winning the Quidditch cup. Dad's promotion. "Expecto Patronum."

Nothing.

Firewhisky kisses, and the inevitable loss that followed. "Expecto Patronum."

Nothing

He thought of Fred and George laughing in their shop. And then of Fred's body, dead and broken. "Expecto Patronum."

Nothing.

* * *

Pansy and Charlie caught each other's eye. It was a strange moment to share. Their mutual dread, but also mutual comfort that they weren't alone. The fear for the other, but not themselves. Each memory, every happy memory they had was tainted by another. It's depression marring the spell. Nothing was purely perfect, neither in the angry girl nor confused boy.

Charlie gave a half-hearted smile, and whispered: "Sausages. Arguments in the library. Coffee. House elf brat. Poker games in the dark."

Pansy, understanding, grinned in response. "Looking after the Longhorns. An accurate impression of someone dying from boredom. Cups of tea. Poverty-stricken red heads… _Sausages_."

"_Expecto Patronum_." They both yelled.

A silvery mist surrounded the Dementor. Angered and surprised it escaped down the mountain, like mercury slipping from touch. Upright, Charlie staggered forward and saw what had made Pansy's face turn ill with fear. A dozen dark shaped were drifting up towards them.

He took her hand, feeling it's smallness beneath his calloused fingers.

She squeezed back. "Again. And you better think of something bloody happy, Weasley, or I'll give you the Dementor's kiss myself."

And strangely, her threat was enough. He laughed.

"You're amazing," he said, numb and drunk and ill with the sadness. "Luna's right. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Pans."

Her bold eyes softened. "I know. But let's think perky thoughts, Mr Gryffindor. I expect you to step up to the mark to save the day, you know. Then I can use my Slytherin scheming to take the credit."

Beneath them, the ghouls of despair rose up the mountain. What could two fragile humans whose lives were filled with death, war and self-doubt do against a dozen, dozen Dementors?

"I won't let you down."

Together they screamed the spell, laughing in the face of death and hopelessness.

* * *

_If_ (and only if) _these two were going to have a Patronus, any ideas what it would be? B__ear, eagle, platypus? Better ideas?_ _I don't feel like_ _they're allowed to be magical animals..._


	14. Chapter 14

_So all of your patroni suggestions are genius. But... the reveal is going to be in the next chapter (which is all written and completed and should be up here soon!)_

_ Thank you to sesshoumaru4me, Alyss, Debate4life, arellowyn, Kokotheevilone, DreamOfInk, NewSlove, & MandibleBones (I especially liked your suggestion) for the lovely comments. Your ideas kept me thinking about the characters, and I'm looking forward to the future chapters. Something tells me the wranglers may have a reckless night out partying in Romania. There's a few stressful, mildly-to-completely life-threatening chapters ahead... so they may deserve tequila and hijinks before shit hits the fan. _

* * *

Before them, the darkness fled.

Two shapes, large and glowing white, sped down the hill scattering the darkness before them. Their fearsome forms raced nose to nose toward the Dementors. Two beasts of power and protection. Two Patroni keeping them from despair. The Dementors flew back at their approach, slipping away like black mercury.

Pansy let out an unwilled gasp.

They weren't dead. They were cold and hurt and alive.

She looked at Charlie, and saw the same tired relief spread over his features. He was safe, thank Merlin. It was all okay. For once, it was all okay. The solidness and surety of his palm in hers promised this.

The frozen air sang in her lungs though her body felt near to collapse. The chill of living ran through her, and a surge of pride rose up. She'd made something beautiful. A happy, strong magic that ran towards danger and repelled it.

Charlie let go of her hand, and placed it on the crook of where her neck and shoulder met. She felt his weight go, and slid her arm up his back to support him. Her palm met the space between his shoulder blades, fingers reading the spine and muscle. Beneath the layers of clothes she could feel him shiver. Yet he smiled down at her, red curls burning despite the grey hue of his face.

"I guess I should be the one they call Damsel from now on."

There was a strange absence in Pansy. The anger that constantly burned in her, which lit up like oil on an open flame with the ease of a word or unspoken thought, was drowned with relief. She felt it's calmness and pleasure soak up through her bones and smooth her face.

She leapt, arms over shoulders and head into neck, breathing in the living smell of him. Charlie braced back as the unannounced weight of Pansy fell into his arms.

"Something bad happened. And no one died. _No one_ died."

He paused, unsure of what to do, then gathered her more into his grasp. Charlie leant his nose into the line of her collarbone, and let out a sigh of empathy. His right hand stroked her back, as his left kept her tight to him.

"I know," he said, feeling empty and not. "I know. It's okay. You made it okay."

That moment of tight security was almost perfect. She did not feel the need to shout or scream, and his arms holding her finally felt like acceptance. An acknowledgement of the sly Slytherin bitch she was, and of the fact her friends were murderers- but that this did not mean she was.

The shame about moments is, of course, their transience.

There was a broom lying by the gate of the dragon pen. It lay abandoned, like a loose exclamation mark. The one Pansy had used had been flung abandoned down the hill during her race to get to him.

But there was Charlie's broom, leaning safe and within reach.

Realization dawned. He could have flown away. He could have taken that broom and come back at any time. He could have gotten help, but instead he stayed to protect _dragons_.

"Pansy…"

Dragons, though a protected species, probably need the least protection of any near extinct animal.

"_Pans_-"

And he decided to stay, wandless and vulnerable and almost close to _death_-

"Pansy! Not to complain, but…you're hugging me a little too tightly," he gasped.

"I'm not hugging you," she growled. "This is strangling, you absolute twit."

She dropped from his arms like a stone, and hit him roughly. Charlie winced, and she quickly trampled the fast rising feelings of sympathy for his weakened state.

"You could have _died_! And I could have died saving you. Think of that! Thought you'd play the hero? Thought you'd bare handedly fight the Dementors? You wanted to protect the precious fire-breathing monsters that are so VERY vulnerable; what with their sharp claws, fiery breath and bad attitude? Wanted to be the goddamn hero!?"

Pansy spent most of her time in states of irate fury or gently boiling annoyance. This was different. She was incandescent, almost inhuman, with rage.

"What did you think you were doing? What were you _honestly_ trying to do?"

Then she understood.

It may have been the strange, controlled blankness that came over his face. Or the realization that Charlie was not a complete moron… The broom was so close to hand. So close. He could have left at any time. He just chose not to.

Charlie loved dragons. He would always _choose_ dragons, always, always. Pansy tried desperately to reassure herself with this. His dracomania had finally driven him mad with heroism.

The guilty shadow in his eye said otherwise.

He chose not to, because he didn't want to come back.

* * *

Like a sharp intake of breath, Pansy stumbled back. She could not comprehend this new, dark element with how she saw Charlie. He was happy, outgoing, healthy. He laughed like a train and had an endless family who loved him enough to write libraries of letters. He was sensible, simple and sure. He sung loud and tunefully, and could identify a dragon from it's mere silhouette in the sky. When he told rude jokes a bashful blush would steal shamefully up his neck. He was handsome but didn't realize it. Proud and naive, but also funny. It was the naivety that came from being sheltered and happy, of not thinking dark thoughts and enacting dark deeds. His kindness was never surprising, because it was always there. Everyone liked him. He always expected the best in people, and because of that you became the best. And despite his dragon scars, vast shoulders and aggressive hair, there was a gentleness to him. A gentleman beneath the unpolished exterior.

He wasn't a consumptive, drama queen whose guilt led him to waste away in a mansion.

He was Charlie.

And Charlie had wanted, in that moment, to die.

The truth resounded between them, unspoken.

He looked at her, guilt-ridden. Unsure of what to say, he let the silence draw on. The metamorphosis of emotions was subtle across her face. Yet he was so used to studying it in those long stretches in the library, that those foreign shapes of controlled emotion and forgetful sentiment were almost familiar to him. Shock struck her face with rigid realization, before morphing swiftly to sadness, and worse- understanding. Only half-fluent in her, he read pity and disgust when all she felt was an echo of what sped through him.

"You didn't leave because you didn't want to…" She couldn't get the last words out, just as he couldn't find the words to respond. All he wanted was for this moment to end.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," she said after some time, with great force. "I should, but I won't. I know how it feels to… want to stop. And it seems worse having people know that you can't handle it. But I want you to promise me," she sort out his hand, and grasped it tight, her nails punctuating her point. "_Promise me_. You won't do this again. And if you do… feel this way, you'll come to me. And we'll talk. Or only one of us will talk. I could tell you all of the awful things that run through my head a hundred times a day –far darker and more twisted than I would admit to anyone else- or I can be quiet, and listen. But, please, please, Charlie, don't put yourself in this situation. I couldn't bare it."

He could hardly dare look her in the eye. This awfulness inside him, suddenly made aware to another, was terrible. He felt as if his skin had been peeled back, leaving him twisted and bare; an utter monstrosity of twisting organs and weak, desperate thoughts. All his horror was reflected in the black mirror of her gaze.

Once again, the Slytherin girl stepped close to the Gryffindor boy. Her mind thought quick and cunning. She was a true Slytherin- a girl of ambitions and wants and manipulation. What was hers was going to stay that way no matter what.

"Please," she said, letting the sadness she felt creep into her voice. "I can't lose another friend. I just can't, Charlie." She saw it work. The cogs fell into place on his face. He was in the palm of her hand, and she would manipulated him well again- and if not well, at least not self-destructive. If she could make him safe now, perhaps later she could work on the happiness.

"Let me be selfish in this," she continued, and the desperate fear made her bark laughter. That strange mania you get when truly on the brink. "I know I'm an over-privileged house elf brat, and a Slytherin bitch-"

"And terribly demanding," Charlie tried to joke, voice raw.

"And _rightfully_ demanding, but let me have my friend back. I've missed you. And damaging yourself would really get in the way of my revenge for the past few weeks of cold shoulder."

He shrank back, shoulders juxtaposed to the horizon. A noise came from his throat that was half-laugh, half-sob. What do you say to that? What do you say when someone holds up the dark mirror of yourself?

"Pansy," he uttered her name like a plea. "I d-don't want to die." It was easy to say when she was looking at him with such concern, with such _will_. If anyone could do the impossible just by willing it true, Pansy Parkinson could. "Really, I don't. That's not to say I'm happy all the time. Far from it." His throat moved with force, straining out the words. "The Dementors- They make you remember the worst times. The very worst. The times when those you love die, and the only way out of the misery is to join them."

His profile was obscured in the night. Pansy was unsure of the words that would fix this. Words that would raise the dead, and rewrite time, and stop anything bad happening ever again. Magic was meant to make the impossible possible, but in her experience it was limited to the mundane. If you can't fix the big problems, what was even the point of being a witch? They were no better off than Muggles when it cam to death and heartache.

"So no, I don't want to die. I just want to see my little brother. I want him to tell me a joke, set fire to my hair again, and be alive to terrorize the world like he was meant to. Fred was a much better son and brother than I'll ever be. He made people laugh, he distracted them from… everything. He _stayed_. He built a business that made our parents proud. He stuck around to be a brother. He didn't run off to hide in the mountains where social interaction was easier because dragons aren't the complex monstrosities that people are. I don't want to die, I just want Fred to be alive more than I want to be alive."

Pansy swallowed. The silence a weak offering.

"This may be an unpopular opinion given present company, but I'm happy you're here." She didn't mention that she thought Fred was a psychopath. She lacked tact, but she wasn't _stupid_. "And… I know how you feel. If it helps. It probably doesn't. But there are people I miss who would be contributing much more to the world than I am."

She stopped there. Matching misery for misery was a dangerous game. It could show that she empathized, and that the terrible emotion was not one felt in isolation. Such things brought people together- sometimes. But she did not want to detract from his pain. By attempting to match his hurt it may seem that she was trying to belittle it and justify her right to be upset and traumatized.

Charlie was not a boy who thought like that. He reached for her hand, and drew her a few steps closer. "Who?"

"I have a dead brother, too. But he was a nasty piece of work, who I refuse to miss… My Father, Edgar, he died when I was young." In a time where the death of a parent was not common place, at an age where the mere words were too large and horrifying to utter. "At his funeral he was described as being pathologically sensible and even-headed. Righteous and honorable too, if you can believe it. Qualities much more needed in the world than having the personality of an angry rhino."

They shared a sad smile. "I see those qualities in you."

_You couldn't possibly_.

"You're a bad liar, Weasley. He was a good man, terribly stern though… For kindness and company, I wish I had Daphne back. She was the sweetest girl in the common room- no Slytherin jokes about it all being relative, I mean it. She sang like a bird, studied like a demon, and looked like a princess. Naturally, I absolutely detested her. But despite that she was my best friend… Mostly though, I wish I had Pell back. I wish that more than anything."

"Who's he?" Charlie asked, his voice low. Pansy had never said so much about her life. Part of him was afraid he'd spook her away.

"My other brother. My favorite- I know you're not supposed to have favorite siblings, but if you were related to a demon and Pellinore, he'd be your favorite too. He's not dead… just incarcerated."

She said this slowly, with meaning, waiting for him to freak out and curse her. "He's very kind. And witty. He deals with our mother much better than I do- hence why she's organized for them to have a private Christmas without me. Sometimes I fantasize breaking him out. Or worse, committing some heinous crime so we could be cell buddies- which probably means I'm delusional. Once during a particularly bad period at home, it got so bad that I almost fired myself up to rob Gringotts just to get chucked in. You wouldn't believe the number of fancy quills I've nicked from the place in the deluded hope they'd catch me and chuck me in jail."

At the foot of the mountain staring down the twin figures of their Patroni, the Dementors lurked in the forest. The bare skeletal hands of the trees gestured up to her, a malevolent calling. The tug on her heart- was it them or the memories?

Before Charlie could respond, there was a shout from below.

Bangs, yells and blasts of colour echoed up toward them. An army of ghostly shadows sprang from the night courting Dementors that slipped away like quicksilver. Pale shapes galloped across their mountain, intruding on their sorrow; a boar, a swallow, a beaver, a seal, and a stag.

Behind the new Patroni, five figures appeared each shouting instruction and wielding spells with clinical skill. They wore dark robes, smart but practical, and ran with the cool efficiency of those trained for dangerous situations. One of them ruined the image by falling flat on his face. Pansy was too conflicted to laugh.

"Oh look, a perfectly timed distraction," she muttered sardonically, and Charlie almost smiled.

"And thank Merlin for it," Charlie replied, with a wonderful realization that he could flee this conversation and avoid her and these horrid events for as long as possible. She promised she wouldn't tell. He could forget his weakness, and continue.

But he didn't. He didn't want to forget what she had told him, and a strange tension had released from his chest from talking about Fred. She looked at him with patience, wanting more of him and willing to wait. He wanted to reassure her, and himself.

"I would steal a Hippogriff's worth of quills to see Fred for merely a moment. But I won't do something like this again. I promise. It's selfish, and I've been selfish enough already. The Dementor was too much. All the bad thoughts, infinite and inconquorable. For a little while, Pansy, it seemed like drowning was the only option."

She smiled. She was almost convinced. The main thing was that he looked sincere- so perhaps he did believe it. Perhaps.

"Good. Because if you force me to endanger my life again, Charles Idiot Von Weasley, I will get D'Artagnan the Dragon to pee on everything you love."

"You have such a way with words… especially threatening ones."

"Years of practice." She took his hand. "Now let's watch the wizard cops do what they do best- turn up late, steal the glory, and fall flat on their face."

The Auror in question was being helped up by a tall wizard with dark hair who had the unmistakably demeanor of someone in charge. For a moment, Pansy admired the clean line of the wizard's jaw, and the lithe way he moved (definitely a Quidditch player)… before swiftly realizing whom it was she was perving on.

The face turned towards them, outlined by the same round glasses that she had spent seven years of her life tolerating.

"Can't a man have a mental break down in peace," Charlie cursed, and not for the first time that night she was reminded of Draco.

Harry Potter, cruelly, waved at them.


End file.
